


Wilding

by arianakristine



Series: I Carry Your Heart [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Gen, Past Sexual Abuse, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 105,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianakristine/pseuds/arianakristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to (I Carry it in My Heart). Multiple POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Milah

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Some spoilers for Season 2, with a little bit of timeline disturbance. Basically, you know how twisted that damn Charming tree is? I’m screwing with the alluded timeline in order to make it worse.
> 
> I wasn’t going to make a sequel, since the stream-of-consciousness writing lent itself so well to an open-ended ending. It can still be read as a stand-alone. But even as I finished it, I knew that if I was the one reading it I’d be clamoring for it not to end there. Only fair to have it continue. However, this will be more of a traditional style; we’re not in Emma’s head anymore for the most part.

You are tired,  
(I think)  
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;  
And so am I.

Come with me, then,  
And we’ll leave it far and far away —  
(Only you and I, understand!)

                             -          E.E. Cummings

 

                It’s often quiet at night.

               So quiet that she can hear the water lap against the prow of the ship, the creaking of the wood, the flap of the sails, and the soft breathing from the crew. She can distinguish each sound from one another, hear the nuances and fluctuations. She has learned that the slightest change in wind can signal a coming storm, that the sound of a bird cawing in the distance meant land was near, and that hard snoring meant a sick assembly in the morning.

                She has learned much from him.

                He watches her as she sleeps, she knows. She can feel his eyes on her at night, sometimes stretching for hours before they close in exhaustion. She never tells him that she knows that he does this; it might make him stop. She also doesn’t tell him that she’ll open her own eyes and stare at him often enough as well, though she suspects he knows just as surely as she does. He is like an illusion, a fantasy, at night especially. He made all her dreams come true, as saccharine as the notion sounds. Sometimes, it seems too much, that her heart will swell with love and happiness and explode within her chest. Other times, her more pessimistic times, she’ll think that it will only be a dream and she will wake in the hovel with her crippled husband sleeping beside her, stuck in the same village she had been born in with no hope of a life beyond.

                Not that her life is a fairy tale, not in the slightest. She and her beau fight just as passionately as they make love. They scream each other hoarse and then bite and claw their way through couplings. Some of the crew watch her with derision and barely hidden contempt to see her command the helm, a right given only to her by their captain. A couple of them have tried to attack her with various weapons, from dagger to gun to fists, to change their own position in the crew. She has killed men to get what she wants, wielding a sword as easily as she once wielded a needle. They are not always guilty. She bears the scars of these encounters as proudly as the one she has from bringing her son into the world. Prouder, even.

                She adjusts her back against the mattress. Her bed is warm, faintly musty, and lumpy against her back. It is perfect. She looks glossily around her shared quarters, noting each trinket that had come to mean so much to her peppered around the tiny cabin. The thick cracked rum bottle she had used against the first of the men when he got too aggressive, the break spider-webbing from the base to form a pattern she had memorized long ago. Dried blood looped languidly around it: her first kill. The jeweled handle of a dagger that she’d pilfered off a rival, the brilliant sapphire and ruby flickering at her with each dip of the ship in the moonlight. She could picture how it felt in her hand, the weight and coolness of the metal and sharpness of the stones against her palm and the wet sound it made when she’d tugged it loose from the body. The onyx stone, highly polished, that she had found amongst the debris of her very first raid. She remembered the feeling of the last piece of her innocence dying in the ashes of that village, just as her foot caught against the smooth, mesmerizing piece of rock. It held energy inside it; to cup it in her hands was to warm her from the inside out, as if it retained the fire that birthed it. Finally her gaze settled on the golden chain with its hammered metallic sparrow. It was his first gift to her, just before he said the first words of love. She had laughed in his face outright when he said it and he had held her wrists until they bruised and made furious love to her until she sobbed out her own devotion to him in climax that night.

                That night ….

                The baubles were all placed prominently around the room and all had the attachment of feelings of one thing: adventure.  Adventure has always been in her blood, calling her to it. It was as sure as the salty tinge to the air, the rocking of the ship against the storm, the pounding of her heart. She had ignored it for the longest time; the impulse had been crushed down by formalities and duty and propriety. She had married the first man that gave her a second look, gotten pregnant as quickly as possible, and fallen into a routine as dry as sand. She had finally seen her misery for what it was, though it had taken her much too long. Seeing the dirty, cocky man swaggering down the path, making his way to the village tavern changed everything. She left all of her old self behind to answer that call and is living life to its fullest.

                Did she have regrets? Only a few, she supposes, as she brushes a hand through her lover’s dark tresses. He stirs but doesn’t wake, using gentle fingers, nails embedded with dirt and deeply sun-tanned, to brush against hers. She exhales slowly, feeling a much-forgotten pain resurrect deep in her chest. Despite everything, she had loved her son. She had to truly harden her heart to leave him behind. She can’t think of him too often or her resolve would lessen. Maybe someday she will be able to see him again, to have him join her on the quest. For maybe he had inherited this pure desire for freedom and would need the salt and air and sea just like she did. But then again, maybe her cowardly husband’s spinelessness did win him over in the end and he will be content to live and die in that same village with the same people in the same routine, day in and day out.

                Her lips curl into a sneer. Wouldn’t that be a cruel twist of fate?

               She turns to her side and her lover grumbles out something in sleep in protest of her movement. She strikes the pillow with a firm hand and fights back an angry, frustrated scream of protest against that possibility. Her son had been somewhere between his mother and father and had always teetered to one side or the other depending on the situation. But above all, her son always wanted his father proud of him and that alone might cement his fate. In his eyes, she is dead and he is all he has left.

                She knows that she never wishes to have more children. Her son was a light in the life of misery she had with her husband, a deep pulsating ray that kept her heart grounded for a short time. However, he wasn’t and couldn’t be enough. He would have never have been enough to keep her heart from turning black as the onyx stone. She would have come to hate him, just as she did his father. It’s better this way. She left him behind for this life and because of it they will both have a chance for happiness.

               Sometimes, when the nights are blackest and her heart aches for change, she pictures what a child with her lover’s features would be like. She could see that black hair, wilder with her genes, blue ocean eyes, angular face, his father’s accent. He would grow strong under the work of the ship and have a kind of swift intelligence unknown to the people on land. His heart would remain compassionate and strong, even if his actions said otherwise. He would have a dashing smile and be able to charm any woman he wished, but he would only wish for one. He would have love, that child, and it wouldn’t be easy. But it also wouldn’t stop him.

              However, as much as she enjoyed the vision, she couldn’t fathom having a child aboard such a ship. The crew was far too unaccommodating, the sea too dangerous, their enemies too numerous. Having a child on her breast would only make her a target and have the others view her as weak. Maybe they would even leave her on a port one day and set their rudders to her body and take away that adventure and excitement and freedom forever. He might stand up for her; that was true. But for how long? Or else the crew may turn on him as well, leaving all three on some godforsaken spit of land in the middle of Leopold’s blasted kingdom. Then she’d be stuck, again, in a miserable existence and come to hate the child and the lover as they would remind her of what she almost had and failed to hold on to.

                How could she fathom having a child when she considers all this?

                No, she could not keep this child. It would have to go.


	2. David

                David tries hard to find similarities between himself and Emma.

                In looks, she only has his high cheekbones, ears, and blonde hair, but even the latter is a lightened version. The way it spirals down her back is all her mother. Her round cheeks, dimpled chin, slightly upturned nose, and wide eyes are all Snow. She shares many of his wife’s traits in personality, as well.

                She is, however, not immune to mistakes or misunderstandings. She understands how to find the people she needs to find with exceptional skill mixed with incredible luck. She feels the need to comfort much more often than to be comforted. She has a dry sense of humor that he would say he shares sometimes, though his daughter likely learned it to get her through her circumstances. She can see right through people’s lies but ultimately wants to believe in the good in people.

               … Well, perhaps Emma has tried hard to build walls to protect against that particular impulse, but he is sure she hasn’t succeeded completely. Evidence to just that is jutting out in front of her as she walks into the kitchen the morning after the curse broke.

                When Snow calls to Emma to ask how she’d like her eggs that morning, she slides into the tan bar stool and comments wryly, “fertilized, apparently.”

                Though she is obviously tired, to David she looks lovely. The morning light is straining in through the thin, gauzy white curtains to bathe her in its ethereal glow. Her messily tied hair lights up like a halo around her cherubic face, blue-green eyes dryly red but shining. His little angel, his daughter.

                He is wholly ignoring her statement. He realizes this. It is his prerogative as a father to keep her in a pure light and not the sexually active one. No, it’s not fair. No, he doesn’t care.

                Snow gives her a sympathetic look as she fixes the toaster. “She keeping you up last night?”

                Emma cracks her neck and sighs. “Yes and no. I think I had other things on my mind as well.” The door to her room opens and a pale colored wolf emerges to circle her legs before sitting pressed up beside her. Snow’s cry is half startled, half alarmed but Emma simply lays a hand on the creature’s head. “Also, new addition.”

                David chuckles against the chipped coffee mug warming in his hands. He notes the way her head tilts and her general posture; he sees his mother in there and therefore him. He sets the mug emblazoned with “Best Teacher” down and wipes his mouth with a swift hand. “Your mother was always collecting animals in the Enchanted Forest. Doesn’t surprise me at all that you’d share that trait.”

                Emma stiffens and looks at him with big eyes and he curses internally. He forgets sometimes that their other life is new and strange to her, even logically fallible. Or that mention of their family was still intangible especially with the age difference, or lack thereof. He fumbles for a way to repair his statement, feeling hopelessly lost. To his surprise, she visibly relaxes and laughs lightly. “I didn’t exactly collect him. If anything, he’s collecting me.” She hesitates. The smile fades and it’s all he can do to not sweep her in his arms at the look of devastation that briefly crosses her face before she hides it away again. Her eyes flick up to Snow’s and understanding flashes in his wife’s face as Emma clarifies, “he’s his brother.”

                “Oh, Emma,” Snow sighs sympathetically, reaching out a hand to their daughter which she shakes off, but not rudely. Her fingers tap out a soft cadence against the white linoleum countertop distractedly.

                David is confused, but doesn’t press as his wife hands him his breakfast of toast, sausage, and scrambled eggs with dejected eyes.

                “A wolf? Cool!” The exclamation brings with it Henry’s boundless energy and optimism as he darts into the kitchen. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, pushes back a mop of dark hair, and squats near the animal. “Is he ours, mom?”

                Emma starts at the new title but shrugs. “I guess he’s not going anywhere for a while. I think he’s the bump’s protector, though,” she says. She half smiles at her son, wonder and awe lighting her gaze. For David, the look is odd to see from this side. “Awful friendly.”

                Henry tentatively brings out a hand to pet it. It whines, looking to Emma for approval, before pressing its head harder into the touch. Henry’s smile is so large that David is swept over by the familiarity of it. He’s not used to the idea of having a grandchild when he still remembers the feel of an infant, so sweet-smelling and tiny, weighing in his arms. However, when he sees a smile like that, there is no use in denying it; the boy is most definitely Snow’s descendant. Not to mention the way that Emma’s stomach distends currently. Maybe that fatherly prerogative will allow the concession that Emma has had relations with men twice. _Only_ twice.

                Emma winces and rubs her belly. “I get it, I get it,” she states grimly and turns to Snow. “So, about those eggs ….”

                “Coming right up,” Snow says with dimpled cheeks. She still hums as she works, even now. It’s these small little things that keep David from going completely insane. He chokes down a bite of egg over the lump forming in his throat.

                “He’s totally calm! He’s like a puppy or something,” Henry exclaims as the wild thing licks his palm. David smirks in amusement.

                “As long as he remains all composed and protective, I suppose it’d be useful to have him around,” David muses. He puts the dish down with a slight clatter and kneels next to his grandson.

                “Like a dire wolf!” Henry exclaims.

                Emma’s face screws up at the reference. “Has Regina been letting you watch HBO?” she asks in irritation.

                Henry gives an equally bewildered look. “No. I’ve been reading up on different myths. Y’know, in case one of the fairy tale creatures come from that, too.”

                Emma rubs her forehead. “God, it’s too early for this. I don’t think this guy is anything but a regular wolf.”

                David chuckles. “I don’t remember any dire wolfs, Henry, sorry to disappoint. However, this one’s all protective over your mom and little sister especially.”

                “Yeah, but that’s because he’s Graham’s, isn’t he?” Henry asks knowledgeably as he strokes the wolf’s soft fur.

                Emma and Snow exchange a glance. Even the wolf whimpers and sets down its head at the name. There are tears swimming in his daughter’s eyes and he catches the meaning, even if he doesn’t understand the way Henry apparently does.

                “Yes, he is, Henry. Why don’t you wash up and I’ll get some breakfast ready for you?” Snow softly cajoles.

                He nods, seeming to feel the change in emotions, and looks both remorseful and hurt. He exits with exceedingly less enthusiasm than when he entered.

                “I feel so stupid,” Emma bites out once Henry’s out of earshot, swiping a tear from her cheek angrily. She blankly looks down at the wolf and shakes her head.

                Snow sets a filled dish down and rounds the counter to wrap her arms around her, and for once she doesn’t pull away. She rocks her as she sniffles and a strange pang of envy strikes David deeply. “It’s not gonna go away just because some time has passed, Emma. Just take it as it comes,” she murmurs. She untangles herself from the embrace and pushes the plate of scrambled eggs and toast toward her. “Eat up.”

                Emma laughs throatily and smiles through her wet eyes. “Thanks, Mary.”

                Snow doesn’t correct her or even flinch at the false name. David files away the information, knowing that the women have a close friendship and that Snow will understand what Emma needs to cope. He will follow her lead, as always. Not that he needs a name change in this world, but it would help as time stretched on. And someday maybe he will be able to touch Emma and not have it feel so uncomfortably alien. Someday, maybe they will _feel_ like family.

                Snow finishes handing out dishes and David goes to the stove to grab the tea kettle and begins pouring hot chocolates for his girls and grandson. Emma takes it with a sigh, muttering about missing coffee but smiling as the cinnamon fills her nose. Henry returns and plops down next to the wolf, silently eating in his company. Breakfast becomes a quiet affair, the sounds of forks scraping against dishes the only thing really heard. Emma seems stiff but seeks comfort almost unconsciously from brushing her sleeve against Henry or pressing against her stomach. David watches covertly as he eats, wondering how things might have been had they _always_ been a unit.

                Would there be cheerful conversation? Would the silence be comfortable? Would they smile and laugh at inside jokes, hugging and giving kisses as they part for their daily schedule?

                Once the dishes are in the sink and Snow has ushered Emma and Henry into playing a board game on the living room carpet, David wraps an arm around his wife’s waist and inhales the scent of butter and roses. “It’s so different here,” he mutters thoughtfully. He looks over to the pair on the carpet, just out of ear’s reach, and shakes his head almost indiscernibly.

                She hums a response and leans against him more fully, molding and shifting into his embrace easily. “So many lost families, so much destruction. We’re gonna have a lot of cleaning up to do.” He thinks of how her voice tinkles as a song, even in melancholy. It soothes him in a way he can’t describe.

                He nods to her statement. “She needs some time, though. I think that’s going to be pretty par for the course. We all need a bit of a grieving period, a reconciliation period.” He frowns. “We’ll need to figure out a better place for Regina, and soon. With magic back, that cell won’t hold her long.”

They had arrested her just yesterday and she had gone grudgingly enough. Her magic was not working as she remembered. With few options, they had locked her up at the Sheriff’s Office but under no circumstances did that mean that David trusted her to stay put. At some point, she would be able to circumvent that particular inconvenience.

                Snow grimaces. “Agreed. Something we’ll discuss. Later.” The last word is pointed. He smirks and buries his head in her shoulder to hide it. He places a gentle open mouth kiss on the juncture between her shoulder and neck, a promise. She shivers and turns her head to nudge against his lovingly. They will need to make up for those lost years and soon, if David has any say in it. He allows himself a moment to think about what that may entail before his thoughts flicker back to Emma.

                “Graham was … the sheriff?” he asks, trying to remember the man. He distantly recalls waking up in the forest after the coma and three faces surrounding him. He thinks he can picture what he looked like: curly hair, dark eyes, strong jaw.

                Snow’s head bobs and he can feel the action more than see it. “He was the Huntsman. He was the one that helped me escape … that helped you escape.”

                _Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain._

                His eyes close and he remembers, finally, the man that facilitated his getaway from Regina’s palace. He remembers the fear of inevitability before the guards around him fell. Then the helmet had raised, the same man. Not dark eyes but deep blue, kind and determined. His accented avowal that he couldn’t join him in escape, that something kept him there.

                “How …?” he asks, leaving the question open. His eyes trace Emma’s shapely form, the sadness in her gaze that persists, the gentle hand soothing the babe inside her as the other moved a piece on the game board.

                Snow’s mouth set in a sad frown as she peered upon the same scene. “They fell in love. I’ve no idea how she was able to lower her walls so quick; one day they’re up, the next he’s gone and they’re so far down that she’s just absolutely shattered.” She bites her lip, obviously recalling the time after the man’s death.

                “Are you sure?” he asks. He’s not truly questioning her knowledge, not really. He just wants to know what she saw in them. Was their daughter happy, if only for the briefest moment?

                “There was no mistaking it. The way they looked at each other sometimes, it was as if they were in some sort of dance or competition, waiting on the other. They’d banter with each other so ridiculously, finding reasons to _almost_ touch. They had no sense of personal space.” She pauses to chuckle, remembering the early days of their meeting.

                He smiles into her hair and sways them gently back and forth. Was he going to continue finding these similarities at every turn? “And I assume she denied this?”

                “I told her flat out one day that she had feelings for him that she was either too blind to recognize or to stubborn to acknowledge.” She has an absent smile on her lips and sighs softly. “That was the day he came to ask me about ….” She falters, a memory coming to her and her lips falling into an “o” of shock. She shudders and turns to bury her head in his chest.

                “What?” he presses, pulling a hand through her short dark hair.

                “Emma said that he kept saying that he remembered. Oh, God, David, he _remembered_. That’s why she killed him.”

                He doesn’t need to ask who. The woman is and was responsible for so many fragmented happy endings that somehow it doesn’t surprise him. His jaw sets. “But how?”

                Snow shakes her head, her eyes spilling over with emotion. “His heart, David. Don’t you remember? She had his heart. She must’ve crushed it, and David, he died in Emma’s _arms_.”

                David remembers that the enigmatic man mentioned the trade, just as he was urging him to leave more quickly. What had he said; that he had given up his heart so Snow could keep hers? While David was aware of Regina’s infamous collection, the literality of his statement had just never clicked. Of course he couldn’t leave; had he, he would have died soon after with the Queen still in possession of his enchanted heart.

_Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain._

               He had owed the man so much. That stranger, that courageous man was the sole reason Snow wasn’t assassinated and David had achieved freedom. That man was the reason he and Snow were able to find each other and create Emma. Yet somehow, because and despite of this strange and terrible curse, he was also the reason that Emma’s womb now quickens.

              He strokes Snow’s back and looks back to Emma with a pained expression. Henry is laying his head on her belly, attentively rolling some dice. The wolf is content to watch them from the floor by the door, its unbreaking stare inherently protective. Emma’s blonde curls shake as she giggles when Henry cries out in excitement from his roll.

             “She’s helping, mom! See, I told you, I just wait for her to kick and I get double sixes each time!” he exclaims.

             Emma rolls and the dice dribble across the board in a comforting trill. She groans aloud. “I see, sibling alliances already! Just outside the Billiard Room.” She is grinning good-naturedly and hugging Henry to her side. Still, there is a weight in her shoulders, a tension in her body that never seems to fully amend itself.

            He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might have done to his daughter, to see the person you love extinguish before your very eyes. To be able to do _nothing_.

           He leans down and presses his lips urgently against Snow’s. She returns the kiss smoothly, breaking it at its natural end to dissolve into another embrace. He loves that she knows exactly what he needs.

           He was broken and scarred whenever Snow had been in danger: when she lost her memories of him, whenever Regina came after her, when she ate the poisoned apple. Yet, he had always known that if he just tried harder, just pressed firmer, just fought tougher, just loved _deeper_ , that everything would turn out right. It was the way their world worked; true love could break any spell and the knowledge never failed to soothe his deepest worries. Even the worst moment in his life, when he placed Emma in the wardrobe, he had _known_ he would see her again.

          Emma would not have that chance with the man whose child she carried. That man who had done so much for _his_ family would never meet his _own_.

          He takes a gulp of water to distract himself, but finds that it doesn’t work. His mind played through scenarios. Had the two just declared their love after Emma had denied it so long? Had they just created the new life that was now growing? Had they even been able to say goodbye?

          His heart aches with heaviness, sympathy biting through his soul for his daughter.

          But his blood boils acidly as he thinks of how Regina will pay.

_Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain._

         It won’t be, Huntsman. He’ll make sure of it.

 


	3. Graham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter will answer a couple questions, but also bring up some more. 
> 
> Some spoilers from 2x01 are included. 
> 
> I do try to answer all (non-spoiler) questions and comment on all reviews. Don’t hesitate to PM me or use my Ask box on Tumblr (arianakristine4) if you become unclear on anything!

 

                _Where am I?_

                The first thoughts leave his head in a jumble, tumbling across synapses but never quite latching on to conscious thought. He blinks a few times, but the action does nothing to help either his mental or physical state. His stomach is rolling angrily, threatening to upend against the spiral of confusion he is going through. It seems to never end.

                He lies for hours, trying not to move and floating in and out of consciousness. Any tiny movement is a shock to his weakened system, sending waves of pain and nausea. His skin is hot and clammy, burning with fever. His breath comes in short pants, desperately seeking the cool air and expelling it back hotly. 

The sky has lightened over this time to a pearl grey, the dawn of a northern morning. But where?

                He finally rolls to his side and manages to expel some bile from his stomach with horrific gagging sounds, his whole body heaving. It’s almost comforting to have it out. He falls ungracefully back to his original position and sighs.

                What does he remember?

                His name is first, in a language that seems both foreign and natural. Inhuman. That knowledge spurns on his memory. He sees his wolf family, the mother that took him in, the brothers and sisters that he grew up with. Thirteen of them curling protectively around him in winter and urging him into play and hunt in the summer. They survived together and he had learned through them to care about the living things in the Enchanted Forest even more than those who lived in the villages.

               He squints into the brightness of dawn as he attempts to remember beyond that. At long last, he recalls grey-green eyes and a wild mane of hair, mouth set firmly in determined grimace. His earliest memory, he thinks in surprise. A memory of the family that abandoned him, a memory he shouldn’t have since he had been so young. Yet it stands out, hazy and dim, but glaringly obvious. The knowledge of magic rolls through him and he wonders if that has allowed him this piece.

              He doesn’t think much of the image. The woman is the person who birthed and abandoned him. He expects bitter feelings to emerge at that, but there are none. His family had loved him. They had been enough.

              Hunting had been common, and the numbers of his family and packs near them dwindled due to fear or pride on the part of the human world and overcrowding of different packs. He remembers the loss of his mother; a sweltering summer day in an absolutely startling moment. It had been alpha against alpha, and his mother had lost. At seven, he had not been prepared. His brother was young but just as devastated. They spent days in the den, dependent on their siblings. When they finally emerged, something had changed. _He_ had changed.

               In a depression, he wandered to the outskirts of their plentiful forest. He found a village and marveled at beings that looked like him. It was astonishing, in a way. He was fascinated with the culture.

               He stuck primarily to listening and observing at first. A patch of thick maple-bush and trees were his cover as he watched the daily routine of the villagers in fascination. Then one day, an old man had found his hiding spot. He was tall with a shock of white on his head and leaf green eyes. He had tensed the way his brothers did around danger and put on his fiercest face. The old man had chuckled and taken pity on him. He held out a bit of food and made a gesture to have him follow him to his home, careful not to touch him or make a sudden movement.

               He ended up spending three seasons there. He was taught about hunting practices and showed a remarkable skill for archery that surprised even the elderly man. He liked him. He would feed him meaty soup and tell him about the old days of the kingdom, weaving stories about his horn and magic spear. He found himself mirroring his speech pattern, much to the man’s amusement. Then, the royal guards came for more young boys to join the King’s Guard. The old man, Fionn was his name, sent him back to the woods and told him not to return until the moon was waning. When he did, Fionn and his spear were gone, leaving behind a quiver, bow, and an empty hearth. He never saw him again.

               Never did he fully trust the humans, especially after that, but they were useful to his continued survival as he passed his knowledge to the family he returned to. He was able to pick up the rest of the language while retaining the accent Fionn had and learned how to read and write along the way. His own skill in hunting grew, but he honored every part of the animal. When it was necessary, he sold any extra meat and the hides he did not need. Never did he do this to excess. He taught his family strategies to outsmart wolf hunters that sought them for sport. His brother became an extension of himself and stayed by his side loyally.

               He recalls embittered patrons of markets and taverns, who scorned and loathed him just for being himself and loving his family.

               Then it all slams into him. A job, a mercy, an attack. His hand flies to his chest in astounding quickness. Under his palm, his heart is creating a thunderous tattoo but it is there. His breaths even out. Somehow it is in its rightful place … how?

                He wipes sweat from his brow and coughs deeply, feeling his heart jump and then relax in his chest. His memories are still out of reach and he has to slowly bring them into focus in a frustratingly linear fashion. He remembers being a slave. He remembers duties carried out under the command of the Evil Queen. He remembers her chambers. He turns and vomits once more, this time in revulsion.

                He finally staggers to his feet. The world tilts and shifts, but he remains upright. He becomes aware that he is dressed in an unfamiliar, expensively-cut dark printed suit that is extraordinarily outside his tastes. He shrugs out of the jacket and lets it fall to the ground in a heap, hoping to get cool. He rips open the buttons on the cuffs and rolls up the shiny white satin. He leans his weight against the trunk of a tree and then stares at it thoughtfully. Is this his woods? Was he able to regain his heart and make it back home? Or did Regina tire of him and crush his heart to dust, leaving him in this comfortable afterlife?

               But no, the trees are different. He runs his hand against the rough trunk, his fingers catching against the loose bark. These have a different smell, a different feel: so close that he thinks it is just imagination but false enough that his mind protests. _Pine_ , his mind supplies without other explanation. The ground is stony and hard, not the lush environment he had grown to adulthood in.

               He hears a rustling in the trees and then a figure pops into view. The man with the cane, familiar but unfamiliar, a person he can’t _quite_ place. _I thought you were a wolf_. But the other ….

               “Belle?” he chokes out hoarsely. His voice sounds rough and disused, wet and cloying.

               The dark haired woman searches at the sound of her name and then gasps when she sees him. “Huntsman, is it you?” she cries and races to meet him. He coughs and groans as his world spins again. Her firm hands steady him and her exotically-shaped ice eyes examine him with barely contained worry. “Does she still have you under her control?” she asks in a whisper full of dread.

               He shakes his head, his hand going to his chest again. “No, my heart ….” He can’t finish his statement. He isn’t sure this time if it’s due to the weakness of his body or the disbelief in his soul. She presses a hand over his and simply beams at him in happiness. A flare of warmth, a forgotten memory, echoes in his mind but he shakes his head away from it.

               “It’s real,” she breathes in awe. She giggles. “I will finally see you happy, my friend!”

               The older man has caught up to them and is spying on him warily. “Huntsman, you are alive,” he states evenly. He cannot tell if he says it in relief, anger, or even disbelief. His gaze is inventorying and he feels unnerved by it. Frail-seeming hands meet Belle’s waist in a wholly possessive manner, which she turns into eagerly with a beaming smile. Suddenly, corresponding moments click into place.

               The two would speak during the day, when he had a chance. She was the only one in the castle with whom he could speak freely. Regina didn’t care much as long as his duties were carried out. The smiling brunette was often cheerful despite their situation, though occasionally the anger or sadness would peak. She would read to him, sometimes. Other times, she told him about her love, the Beast who was only a man.

               “You have your happy ending, little one,” he states with a smile that she returns eagerly. Memories whirl around him, a cloud of magic, rolling to the Dark Palace from somewhere deep in the woods. He remembers the terror in Belle’s eyes, the abject hopelessness.

               Is he dead? Did that cloud smother and kill him? Did Belle and her lover die as well? Is this some paradise? He grasps his head as pain envelopes him. Cool fingers set against his forehead.

               “Huntsman, you’re feverish. What happened?” she asks softly.

               No. No, that wasn’t the end of the story, was it? He looks at her in a daze. He had awakened, but he hadn’t been himself. He had been Graham, the Sheriff of Storybrooke. He wore strange clothing and used foreign technology. He had forgotten his brothers and sisters, forgotten that his heart was missing, forgotten the people around him had other lives.

               “I … I was the sheriff?” he asked. Belle shrugs gracefully. He doesn’t remember seeing her in this new land.

               The older man, Mr. Gold, the imp, turns and his brow furrows. “You don’t remember, Huntsman?” His voice is fully intrigued, as if the answer hinges on something important.

               He hesitates, brushing a hand through the scruff on his chin, and rattling off the knowledge that is slowly pouring back to him. “I was Graham. I lived in a small apartment down State Street. You were my landlord. I ordered breakfast every morning from Granny’s and grabbed a drink there each night. I worked on the same three cases and five calls every day. At lunch, I would take my break in the office and Ruby would deliver a sandwich. Leroy would get arrested for being drunk and disorderly each evening. I ….” He pauses here. He had been Regina’s slave, her plaything. They do not need to know that.

               Gold seems titillated and leans on his cane. “You remember dying, dearie?”

               Graham falters. Dying? “No,” he states, his voice barely wavering.

               Gold’s eyes sparkle. “Never mind that. We’ll get you to your office, Huntsman. We’re headed there, anyway,” he asserts darkly.

               “Is there something I should remember, Gold?” he asks as he comes forward. The world only spins slightly, and for that he is grateful. Belle takes his arm anyway, and steadies him as she helps lead them in the right direction.

               Gold’s smile is more of a sneer. “All in due time, Huntsman. We wouldn’t want you remembering things out of order, now would we?”

               He is frustrated beyond words. His last memories of their world have fallen into place; the Dark One had sought him out before the curse was cast to tell him of a Savior. Rumplestiltskin, by reputation, always had an ulterior motive and Graham wishes that he could regain his memories quicker in order to deduce what that motive was.

              He leans heavily on Belle as his strength is sapped again and she helps him regain his footing. Gold shoots him a look of hefty disdain but doesn’t comment.

              Their walk is silent, his mind still sifting through years of repetition. Years of abuse. Years of solitude, indifference, passivity, and forced isolation. None of this retrieval is relieving his symptoms; on the contrary they are worsening them.

              For a moment, he decides to focus on the here and now. It works for barely a second. Belle’s grip is gentle and comforting but somewhere in his mind he knows that there is something better. A stronger touch, filled with emotion and tension and love. Bare pale skin, soft and pliable, against his own. Golden curls and lithe fingers straining into the flesh of his back, perfection of pieces as they come together. A hiss of satisfaction and words of _feeling_ , his teeth sinking into her shoulder to mark her as his own. She is his and he is hers.

              Perhaps Gold was right. Memories out of order made no logical sense. He couldn’t feel without his heart, so this must not have happened. A wonderful dream, perhaps.

              The light, as it always is, is on at the station. It seems a bright beacon in the early morning. The group set in and immediately he collapses against a messy desk. He coughs and chokes before turning to the waste basket and retching profusely, oddly proud that he made it to a bin this time. Belle’s cool hands have returned, brushing his dark curls back in sympathy.

              “Is it supposed to be like this? It wasn’t this difficult for me to get my memories back,” he hears her murmur to Gold.

              He shivers and collapses to the ground with a clunk, turning on his back with closed eyes. It’s too much. He can feel Belle kneel beside him at a loss.

              “I don’t know, my dear. I’ve never seen someone come back from the dead so lucidly,” Gold replies sourly. “Stay with him a moment. I’ve something to do.”

              “How is he alive?” a voice glowers with carefully controlled venom. A shiver runs down his spine. The voice is all too familiar and doesn’t help his current state in the slightest. He opens his eyes and blurrily finds the lock-up to see Regina’s face twisted into a bewildered sneer.

              “You know, I must say that I haven’t the faintest idea. I suppose you didn’t account for all things when enacting this little curse, those happy endings restoring and all,” Gold answers with a pleased grin crossing his face.

              Her dark eyes narrow before they flick back to Graham. Her lips purse as she considers him before they coil into a smirk. “Did you enjoy my punishment, then, Huntsman?” she asks, long fingers curling around the bars in sick amusement.

              He growls deep in his throat, but the threat is lost as it turns into a cough. Belle pushes his shoulders down; he wasn’t even aware that he had attempted to rise. He takes a few breaths to steady himself as Belle tries to hush him. “I hope you enjoy yours threefold, Regina,” he finally bites out.

              She scoffs and her shoulders square. “They decided I needed to answer for my crimes, but they’re too weak to kill me. Fools, all of them.”

              “You forget about me, dearie,” Gold says delightedly, his accent taking an upward lilt. His eyes are sparkling with mirth as he reaches into his pocket. What he pulls out is obscured by a piece of cloth, but a heavy golden chain dangles from it and swings with the movement. He hesitates, looking at Belle. A flash of something, perhaps guilt, goes across the older man’s face. This hesitation lasts only a moment. He looks to Graham and cocks his head as if recalling some intricate cog in this whole mess. “I suppose I can leave you with a piece of information first, my dear girl.”

              Regina’s tone is laced with malice. “What?” she spits out.

              He turns his head back to her with a feral smile stretching across his lips, indicative of power and delight. He seems absolutely bubbly and Regina unconsciously cowers under the stare, knowing she is about to be delivered some terrible blow. Belle recognizes it as well and slowly rises to her feet.

              “Rumple …,” she calls, reaching out a hand in desperation though unwilling to leave Graham’s side. His gaze remains unwavering.

              “Why, Regina, is it feasible that you remember your little question about our Savior?” The “r” pops off this tongue in a caustic trill. He shows every tooth in his mouth as his dark eyes gleam powerfully. “Our Huntsman here is the reason Emma is in such a state.”

_Emma_. The name shoots within his already overstimulated brain. His eyes roll shut and he remembers.

              Spirals of golden hair, snarky attitude, raised brows, _feeling_.

              Teasing words, matching wits, gentle flirting, gazes that consume and nourish each other.

              Accidental brush of fingers, subtle smiles, hands lingering on skin before snapping of cuffs, protectively grabbing her waist to steady her after the ground quakes.

              Time spent locked away in the office, playing games and telling jokes under the guise of staving off boredom. Really, they stay past business hours to be near each other longer.

              Disbelief and judgment in her eyes as he falls from her blow, trying to explain but the curse and the situation making his tongue clumsy and heavy. Deciding not to concede as she walks away with sad expression, even when she avoids him. She cares, she does, and he can tell.

              Cupping her jaw to demand a kiss that is returned only for a moment before she pulls roughly away. Feeling the beginnings of the curse splintering but the wonder of her taste lingers more acutely.

              The concern coupled with compassion swimming in blue-green eyes as a hand presses so insistently to his chest, the other warmly caressing against his hand and smoothing it so they both felt the uneven beats of the false heart.

              The pride on her face when he rejects Regina _for him_ , but quietly also for her. How empowered and free he feels as he follows her into the dark.

              Slowly feeling the heat radiating off her body as she steps into his space but consciously _waiting_ for her, and gentle kiss initiated by her this time, killing his curse in a burst of magic. 

              Insistent unbuttoning and urgent lips, bodies pressed together, fitting against each other seamlessly, feeling complete for the first time. She tastes like cinnamon and salt and something so elusive he laves her skin more than necessary to describe that taste more fluidly. He doesn’t succeed but doesn’t stop. Her hands running across his body reverently, lightly scratching here and digging there, expressing what she cannot verbalize and he tries to mimic.

              Foreheads pressed together, thinking how fitting it was that they found each other. Wrapping a hand around her wrist, feeling the pulse stir something within him, bringing her back to him.

              Then trying to meet her lips again but falling, hurting, dying. He _had_ died. 

              His mind is whirling with memories and his body burning with fever, though he can still hear Regina’s outrage collapse into cries of utter terror. It starts to fade as he hears Belle call for him, but the darkness seems so peaceful right now.

              He slips into it smoothly, thoughts of what exactly broke his curse filtering in his last conscious thought.

              True love.


	4. Milah (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize that this chapter is so short. Let’s say it’s a holiday problem (time and a half has dragged me to work). Don’t worry: none of the other chapters are nearly as small. These next three chapters follow the pattern set by the previous three, then will change after that as more POVs come in. Have a happy Labor Day! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos!!!

                Three weeks after she had become aware of it, she tells him determinedly that she needs some time to herself.

                It isn’t the first time she’s asked. Every few months or so, she’ll go off on her own to collect her independence and feed her soul for something other than monotony. Even though she is content onboard, sometimes she needs something _different_. She has spent time in lands all across the Enchanted Forest in the two and a half years that she’s known him.

                He grins at her, that wide beautiful grin that made her love him in the first place. He pulls her close with one heavily jeweled hand and has her eyes follow his outstretched finger to a spot of land on the horizon.

                Her eyes touch it and soften in wonder. It is lush and green, seemingly untouched by civilization. Tall trees, thick grasses, and unchiseled boulders are all that she can see, save the occasional rustle of wildlife. She is aware that the Enchanted Forest stretches for miles upon miles upon miles, but such uncultivated land is foreign. No people, no questions, no worries – it seems utopian.

                “I can leave you there. Send word when you are ready to rejoin us, love,” he says in that buttery accent. Her heart swells. He loves her so much that the request is not questioned or taken to heart; he understands her need to stretch and explore and is willing to give her all of it.

                What would he say if he knew she is leaving so that she could abandon something they created from that love?

                She presses her face into his chest and inhales deeply. He smells like wind and spices and independence. “I love you,” she whispers.

                He smirks. “Of course you do, love,” he teases. But she can see the reciprocation in his gaze. His hand encircles her wrist and a rough thumb glides against the pulse, stirring a heat deep within her. She knows she will miss it while she’s gone.

                The crew seem delighted to see her off. They hide it under false wishes for her safety on her trip and grin behind their hands. The one in the red cap pushes her roughly onto the rowboat and smiles a rotten-toothed smile as he says goodbye.

                The forest is wide and wondrous; she thinks that it will be the perfect place to stay while she gestates. As expected, it is empty of people, wild things roaming about and the air heavy with nature. Magic vibrates and although she cannot brandish it, she can feel the untapped resource pulsating with the desire to create. There is a stream with clean water, thick with fish, and a lake further down to swim in. Deer, rabbit, and squirrel run from her feet if she is too loud in her exploration. Sometimes the wolves will growl at her when she gets too close to their den and that excites her, too.

                She has a tent, a bow and quiver, a dagger, and a few blankets. It is all she needs, even though she suffers the first few nights. Her archery skill is a little uneven from disuse, but she picks it up again in a few days. Careful, learned hands remember how to skin a rabbit and build a fire. She finds a routine early and then grows frustrated; she reorganizes her whole life and starts again. Her belly rounds and the forest provides; these are the only things she wants to persist. Routine scares her in a way she cannot express.

                At some point, the largest wolf begins to study her from afar. The female doesn’t approach, but seems acutely interested in the pregnancy and watches her with keen black eyes. She can feel the presence of magic in it.

                When the hottest night in summer hits, she ties back her thick hair with a rope made from the weeds that grow beneath the cover of trees and floats on her back in the cool blue-black lake. She is clothed in starlight and the water and air are utterly still. Crickets chirp and an owl calls, the only noise covering the landscape. She stares at the moon, a harvest moon that is almost golden, and feels something in her chest dislodge. She reaches tense fingers toward the sky and then cradles her belly and cries for hours.

                She tries not to get attached. Tries not to feel connected when the fetus jumps eagerly whenever her heart races in exhilaration. Tries not to smile when it dances in her womb as she settles to sleep. Tries to forget the images she conjured aboard the ship, of a boy that looks so much like his father. Tries not to picture how she could teach him to love what she loved and how to survive in this world. Tries not to feel the love well up inside her for him.

                Such feelings are squashed down each time they arise. It cannot be, she reminds herself. It _cannot_ be.

                It is on a cold day in fall that her waters break. She has been experiencing contractions for the past few days, so it is not altogether surprising. Labor is simple and predictable the second time around. She had a midwife with her first, but now such a person would seem superfluous. She knows how to birth a child and had been prepared to do so alone. What does surprise her is the return of the grey wolf, head down and examining her progress, leaving when the child is born alive.

                Her son comes into the world with barely a squawk.  He looks at her with milk-blue eyes that peer into her soul. She imagines they will be more like Killian’s eventually. His hair is a mop of dark wet curls. Her cheekbones, his lips. She drags a finger down his nose, the same as her lover’s, watching the large eyes flutter closed then open again. He is lovely to look at. Something whispers over them, but it is gone before she can identify it.

                As she inventories and memorizes him, his face crumples and he begins to squall and she knows he is truly _seeing_ her. As if he knows what she is planning to do.

                She has a moment, barely a true one, where she considers bringing him back to the Jolly Roger. “ _Here_ ,” she would say to Killian. “ _Here is your son. See how his eyes are like yours? See how his chin is? He is our freedom, our life in flesh and blood_.”

                In the end, she doesn’t name him. She tucks a blanket around him and brings him to the edge of the den. The dark grey wolf bares its teeth at her, but comes to the baby and only curls itself around him in protection. He belongs there, she realizes; he is a child of the trees and the earth and the animals. She was never meant to have him.

                She doesn’t admit to the tears that course down her cheeks for the first hour, lungs fighting to shudder, but then grieves the loss with tears as potent as the ones she shed for Bae. She decides to allow herself this and only this. She cannot think on this child again.

                She leaves soon after drinking the bitter bark that will stop the flow of her milk. It seems to sever the last tie. She imagines she can hear his cry from the wolves’ den, but it is covered by the howls of the brethren.

                The untapped magic wriggles its way around her and she can feel it fight to speed up her healing, too soon, much too soon. A visceral scream escapes from her throat and she shrieks until her throat is raw and the rage has been swallowed up. It is still there, with the pain and sadness, but it is covered and bandaged so that she will never again have to look at it.

                The sails are spotted along the horizon early after she sends the carrier bird with the message that she is ready. They anchor shallowly and a single dingy is rowed ashore. He steps onto the land with swagger and his eyes twinkle with delight. Her love wraps an arm around her and leads her back to the ship with pride.  

                She only looks back once, briefly.

                He never once mentions her time away. But he keeps her closer, kisses her deeper and perhaps more gently. He stares at her in the daytime, now, and sometimes she catches expressions of worry and fear. She wonders if he had truly been frightened that she would never return, since she had spent so long away from him.

                For this reason, she doesn’t take another excursion. She stays by his side and drinks in his spirit; it is enough.

                It is enough up to the moment Rumple tears the heart from her chest, the one meant for Killian, and crushes it in his fist in fury. They only had one month together again, not nearly enough. As a glare flares across her vision, she sees Bae and the nameless child pass through her mind with white-hot feelings of regret. But she has her love holding her close, so it is not all for naught. He loves her wildly and she loves him back. She reaches a finger to weakly stroke his jaw, whispering that she loves him one final time.

                Their love was worth it all.

                She will take it with her.


	5. David (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains dialogue from 2x01, which again I do not own.

          David’s jaw tightens as he lights the torch. He looks over to Snow and there passes a look of understanding. They have to trust Emma on this.

          Anger still burns through him. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would have preferred to let this be Regina’s problem and no one else’s. That would keep his family safe, keep his daughter safe. Keeping her safe is the most important thing; he is unwilling to break the silent promise he gave the Huntsman even if it has been passed on from Snow to Emma.

          The wraith howls outside, the screams of its victims a churning dissonance of vociferous mourning. He turns to see Regina as she spins the hat on the tile, her bobbed dark hair crisply falling into her tightly drawn face. He wonders, as Regina struggles with the hat, how he would feel if the wraith simply sucked her soul form her body. Guilty? Apathetic? Peaceful? … Righteous?

          The woman has broken up so many happy endings, killed so many of his subjects, exposed his grandson to such _evil_ that it seemed rather fitting that her black heart be drawn from her corporeal form. His only regret would be that it would be too quick.

          He shakes off the thought. It isn’t like him to be so cruel, so mean-spirited. Yet it seems that Regina brings that side out of him more often than not.

          Emma has been the voice of reason during this event. Somehow, she has the ability to remain rational about Regina’s connection to Henry. She knows he will be the one to suffer if she dies. Sometimes, David sees something flicker behind her eye, a fire that strains to be acknowledged and directed toward the Evil Queen. It happens most often when her hand moves to soothe her child.

          He sighs and tightens his hands around the handle, knowing their chance for proper justice will begin after the spirit is subdued.

          The doors burst open and the wraith, in all its undead glory, screeches at them. It seeks Regina with an accuracy that shocks him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Snow pour liquor over the bars and he sets his torch to them. It ignites with a hiss, bringing a better, but not infallible, barrier between them. He waves the lighted broom in front of the creature’s face but every time he pushes it back, it lurches forward with a growl of contention to gain more ground.

          “Now would be the time!” he calls behind him, seeing that the Queen is still grappling with the portal.

          Emma grabs her belly and he catches the worry in her eyes as he watches her. She kneels awkwardly next to the former Queen and places her other hand on her shoulder in a bruising grip. And just like that, the portal opens. He can hear the wind pick up and the air around them trembles with magic.

          He pulls the broom down and the wraith leaps forward. It falls into the trap with a final shriek of outrage. He feels his soul lighten and a sigh of release forms in his chest.

          It doesn’t get a chance to expel.

          A split-second later, the monster catches Emma’s ankle. She falls to her side with a huff as the wind is knocked out of her and it drags her with it through the vortex.

          David’s heart stops and his mind freezes. “No!” he cries, horror creeping over him as the last of the blonde hair disappears in the midst.

          “No! I am not losing her again!” Snow cries, though not in the same mournful tone. It is in determination. She takes a running leap for the portal.

          David’s jaw sets and he prepares himself. “Neither am I!” he replies and leaps over the partition just as Snow falls through the swirling purple. He flies through the air to join her.

          He clatters to the floor clumsily, the infinite fall suddenly shrinking to none at all. He looks down, finding the hat collapsed, destroyed underneath him. His ears ring with the abrupt silence. His eyes go wide, scanning the hat as if it can produce answers. The edges are frayed and there is a split at a seam, the white lining peeking through like its flesh. It is destroyed and it is all his fault. All his fault.

          No. His mind whipsaws from guilty to condemning. Regina’s fault.

          “Where are they?” he all but growls at the Queen.

          “I have no idea,” is her tempered reply. She rises to her feet, brushing her clothes free from dust. She is unharmed, unafraid, uncaring.

          His heart plummets and he finally bites out his worst fear. “Are they _dead_?”

          Regina’s eyes flash briefly with fear, pity. It is gone before he really gets a chance to see it. “The curse, it destroyed all the lands –“

          “Are they _dead_?!” he screams again, feeling his heart splintering and rage piquing as he staggers to his feet.

          “I don’t know,” she answers firmly, her lips pursing in a scowl.

          He shakes his head in disbelief. He can feel hot tears collecting below his eyes, but his gaze is hard and unfaltering.  He takes a few steps toward her threateningly. “I should have killed you myself.”

          His hand goes to grab her, but she wrenches away and turns to back him away with a fierce glare. Something in her eye makes him back up as opposed to advancing further. “Well, then, what’s stopping you?” she all but purrs.

          Then he’s against the wall and what feels like branches snake around him like vines and cut off his oxygen. He gasps almost pathetically, feeling his lungs squishing against his back. He is suddenly worried that he will never live to avenge them, that his promise is broken.

          “You think you’re some heroic prince?” she cackles. There is the Regina he remembers, so spiteful, so livid. Insane. She looks him over in disgust, as if he is merely a pest to be smashed beneath her toe. “Please. You’re nothing but the son of a shepherd.”

          The insult doesn’t crack his resolve, but the continued lack of oxygen does. He gasps again, feeling his vision cloud over and his head growing lighter by the millisecond. A bit tighter and he will be gone.

          He thinks of his mother, who he will no doubt be seeing soon, disappointed at him but still welcoming him into her arms. Her soft eyes and gentle hands, whispering that she loves him. His father will stand just slightly behind her, a tired smile on his worn face, nearly forgotten now.

          He thinks of Snow, the way she looked when they first met, a slim robber dashing through the trees. The first time she said she loved him, her eyes gleaming in fearful delight. When they were first married, the love in her eye and the joy mirrored by his mother. When they were married officially, the bliss cut short by the entrance of Regina; but to see her in that feathered white dress, her dark hair in startling, exquisite contrast and the adoration in her green-blue eyes. Or when they first found out they were expecting Emma, lips pressing together in fulfillment, his hand seeking her belly as if to introduce himself to the being forming below. And then when they found each other again, wrapping into a kiss that he hoped was an apology for how he treated her during the curse. He imagines their kiss when they are reunited in the afterlife, so bittersweet.

          He thinks of Emma, her bright eyes and pride, her determination, the similarities he was only just beginning to count. The strength she held inside of her when most would be crashing to the ground. The sweetness she displayed to those she felt deserved it. And her belly swollen with his second grandchild. That granddaughter that he will never meet, that will never exist, and how _cheated_ that makes him feel.

          He thinks of Henry, poor Henry who will be so destroyed when they won’t return, when he will lose the family he had just found and the one he had all along. Adoptive mother murdering his grandfather. Grandparents, mother, and sister, gone, all in one fell swoop. Henry, he thinks, is the one that will suffer the most.

          All of this passes through his mind in a whisper of time and then his eyes roll back as his breath leaves him.

          “I should have killed you when I could,” she sneers at him, throwing his own words back into his face. Yes, he should have killed her, he thinks. Long ago, back when her threats hadn’t caused so much destruction. Back when killing her wouldn’t mean that he would be minus a wife and daughter. This woman can’t be saved; there is no love in her. Why didn’t he insist on her execution, go against Snow’s kind-hearted wishes? Regina’s hand crawls up to his chest, the touch certainly predatory and perhaps even lustfully so. Her dark eyes grow darker with each movement. He feels his vision fade, the afterlife gleaming somewhere beyond. “Now I can.”

          “Mom?”

          Henry’s tear-filled voice penetrates his upcoming death and releases the chokehold ever so slightly, allowing him to breathe again.

          Her tone changes on a dime as she turns from him to his grandson. “Henry, what are you doing here?”

          “What are you _doing_?” Henry insists, his mouth dropping open in shock. David can see him, Red holding him back from truly confronting Regina and his hazel eyes accusing.

          “It’s okay,” Regina attempts to soothe and comes to kneel next to Henry. “You’re safe now.”

          The branches finally release and David takes in a hard gulp of air before landing awkwardly on the wooden floor. He chokes and coughs, his burning lungs desperate for oxygen. Red runs to him and grabs him to check on his safety. After a moment he waves her away, Henry needs her more, but she remains solidly at his side.

          Henry’s wide eyes dart around the room, taking in the scene in front of him. “Where’s my mom? And where’s –“

          “They’re gone. They fell through a portal and …. Henry, I’m sorry,” the witch says, crocodile tears glossing over her vision. David almost sneers out his derision.

          “No you’re not,” Henry accuses, and David can see his gaze light with betrayal from his place on the ground as realization dawns on him. “You really _are_ the evil queen.” His eyes turn hard. “I don’t want to see you again.”

          “No, don’t say that,” Regina whimpers. David feels a sick thrill at seeing her in pain. Her hand comes out to touch Henry’s chin. “I love you,” she insists, her words thick with true tears.

          Henry is more pragmatic now, David can tell. In only moments his optimism has dissolved. A child could only take so much before their innocence implodes. “Then prove it,” he demands, backing up just a touch. “Get Emma and Mary Margaret and my sister back. And until then … leave me, leave _everyone_ alone!”

          An eye twitches as she rises but David can tell that she is focusing her tone to remain even and light. “Where will you go?” she asks, trying to reason her way back to him.

          David climbs to his feet with just the barest of help, determination finally coursing through him. “With me,” he declares.

          Regina looks at him with barely contained fury. Her fingers twitch but she will do nothing to him in the presence of Henry. With new confidence, he side-steps her and grabs his grandson’s hand. No, he will not kill Regina. He will let her lose her son by her own doing. That will be her punishment. Because there _is_ something in this life that she believes she loves.

          Henry’s small hand is clammy, but he holds on firmly. He walks almost dreamlike through the town, which doesn’t surprise him. David himself is surprised that he’s standing. When he pushes the door open, the wolf darts out. It almost knocks David over in its persistence. He watches it run down the street purposefully and he wonders if it will grieve the loss of its new companion just as deeply as its last.

          He sighs and leans against the doorframe heavily. Then he shuts the door and turns to find Henry at the breakfast bar, hunched over a framed picture. The front room is a mess. The toaster is still on the counter on a tilt, dishes stacked on the counter and waiting to be placed in a cabinet, a blanket is thrown haphazardly across the couch, and Clue is still laid out with its pieces scattered across the board. His chest tightens as he remembers how happy they were, if a little broken, just this morning.

          “Henry?” he presses. He almost winces at how strongly it is expressed. The confidence he is forcing is surprising, even to him. The boy’s head pops up.

          “What?” he asks dejectedly. He turns again to the picture of David’s wife and daughter. David looks at it wistfully. It was taken perhaps a month ago. Mother and child share identical grins and Emma has thrown an arm around the dark haired woman. Their cheeks are stained pink from the cold. Emma was still hiding her frame, but it was just  
barely visible if you knew what you were looking for. They look happy. God, he needs that again. And then his chest lightens.

          “Emma and Mary Margaret, they’re alive.” He insists. They are not in that afterlife. He glimpsed it, just near the end. And while his parents were there, the rest of his family most assuredly was not. They _must_ be living.

          “How do you know?” Henry asks pessimistically. His eyes are shining with moisture that he doesn’t let fall.

          “I have faith,” David says with a smile.

          “But ….”

          He shakes his head and rushes to kneel in front of him. He will not let his grandson lose all that optimism that ran through him so strongly as early as this morning. “Henry, come here. I will find them. I will _always_ find them.”

          The words bring about a small smile, and suddenly it doesn’t seem all that impossible.

          He will keep his promise.

 


	6. Graham (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be the end of the pattern, though you will see David and Graham’s POVs again later (with some others).

  
 

          He comes to very slowly, but he feels infinitely better. A cold compress is on his forehead but he barely needs it. The soft mattress beneath him is excessive but comforting. His mind is still full with Emma and he can barely concentrate on anything beyond her. His eyes blink open to see a figure, slightly obscured by tired vision.

          “Emma?” he calls hoarsely, hopefully. The figure chuckles.

          “So, you’re awake,” the voice calls in a familiar accent. He blinks more rapidly and Belle’s smiling face comes into view. Her dark curls are messily pulled back and her brow is dour with tiredness, but she manages a smile that lights the room. This is the Belle he remembers. “We were afraid we’d need true love’s kiss to get you up.”

          The joke falls flat as his hands seek to wipe his face. “Where am I?”

          “The backroom of Gold’s Pawn Shop. We took you here after you collapsed.” Her hands sink into a bowl of cool water and then pat the compress back on his head with an evaluating look. He knows he has no use for it.

          He pushes onto his elbows. “I’m in Gold’s _bed_?” he asks incredulously. This has to be one for the books.

          Belle’s laughter rings out again. “No, Huntsman! There are many nooks and crannies in this place. I’ve found you one of the unused rooms.”

          He gives a weak smile. “Belle, call me Graham. I know it … it’s just … please, Belle,” he implores.

          He can’t verbalize the need for the concrete name. He had lived as the Huntsman, been free and a prisoner as that man. But the name was rarely said without fear, disdain, or anger. _She_ knew him as Graham. She had said that name with humor, passion, and love. It feels like a new start.

          Belle’s brow furrows but she takes the compress off his head. “Graham it is, old friend.” She hesitates and he can see the question forming. “Who is Emma?”

          Graham unconsciously smiles. His fingers brush his lips. “She is our Savior. The one that broke the curse,” he replies simply after a beat. He knows it to be true. He can feel it in his bones, even if The Dark One hadn’t informed him about her. With her, he had been able to feel even without his heart.

          Belle’s eyes roll and she pushes against his shoulder playfully. “I knew all _that_. Rumple is keeping me well informed on certain matters. What I don’t know is who she is to _you_.”

          He chuckles and sits up. He looks down at the rumpled shirt and suit pants and winces. “I need to find her, Belle. Help me find my shoes and I’ll tell you on the way.” He swings his legs over to the edge of the bed and feels relieved that there is no more nausea or vertigo.

          She frowns and begins to chew on her lower lip. “Graham ….”

          He looks up, noticing her sudden change in mood. “What?”

          She bites down hard and looks away. Finally, her ice eyes meet his. “There was an incident. When Rumple came to the jail for Regina, he was … he was marking her. He brought forth this wraith that was set on destroying her. He told me that the Charmings found a way to banish the entity instead, but –“

          Graham holds up a hand, worry encompassing him. “Where is she, Belle?”

          Belle looks away sharply and then determinedly focuses on him again. He’s always admired that strength in her, the ability to deliver all news with respect for the person she’s giving it to. He feels fear creep up that she is directing it to him at this point in time. “She’s in our world, Graham. With Snow White.”

          Graham feels his stomach plummet. Their world? “Is it … is it even still there?”

          Belle sighs. “Rumple believes it is.”

          Graham staggers to his feet and shoots a look around the room. The dizziness has returned, but now he can determine the cause to be his stirring emotions. He finds the shiny dress shoes easily amongst the antiques and yanks them on.

          “Hunt—, Graham, what are you doing?” Belle exclaims.

          Graham’s eyes narrow. “I am verifying what Gold has told you and then I am giving my help to my King,” he grinds out. He stumbles slightly in untied shoes and reaches down to tie them. He heads purposefully through the door. He can hear Belle’s protests but he wholeheartedly ignores them.

          “Do you really wish to be going out there? No one knows you’re alive but us, Huntsman,” Rumplestitskin’s voice calls out without so much as raising his voice as he rounds the corner. The man is not even looking up from the silverware he is polishing. Belle trips into the main room behind him, breaths short as she watches him with soft, apologetic eyes.

          He pauses and tries to find the proper retort. “I don’t care,” he finally says simply, pushing the door open and the chime crying out before it slams shut again.

          He stops abruptly, finding his brother sitting a few paces away, his tail wagging in delight.

          He kneels by the wolf and runs a hand through his hide. “You’ve been taking good care of her?” he asks rhetorically. The wolf whines and nudges his hand in response. He rises and gives a sharp whistle and the wolf falls into step with him.

          He’s not exactly sure what he expects as he walks through town. Perhaps reunions in the street? People still hugging and cheering that the curse is broken? It is dark out and the New England fog has swept itself across the streets in a deep misty sea. The street lamps cast hazy yellow light onto small sections of the storefronts like a post-impressionist painting. There are no others out and, despite their protests, neither Belle nor Rumplestitskin have followed him.

          His steps slow as he approaches Mary Margaret’s apartment. He doesn’t consider it Snow’s residence, just as his apartment on State wasn’t his home. He looks to his brother, who is panting heavily. His tongue rolls out and he looks content that they have gone to the right place. Hesitantly, he reaches a fist to the door and gives two hard knocks.

          There is silence. He reaches to knock again. His hand lingers just above the dark wood, wondering if he could handle his own reaction if ‘Stiltskin was right. He takes a deep breath and collapses near his brother. His lashes flick across his cheeks and he tries to gather his strength again.

          The door swings open in the meantime and a heavy silence falls. He looks up to see King James, his eyes red-rimmed and whole face full of exhaustion. _Oh_ , he thinks. It is certainly true.

           “Highness,” he greets formally with a slight inclination of his head. He is already on a knee, so he can’t bow further.

           The king’s eyes browse across his form in bewilderment. He blinks, hard. “Huntsman?” he finally asks, uncertain.

           He rises to his full posture but can’t manage to meet his heartbroken stare. Instead, he hangs his head as the reality settles in his stomach. “I have come to offer my services, my king,” he states in as even a tone as he can manage.

           The blond man gapes at him a moment or two, still hanging on to the door knob. “But, you’re dead!” he finally exclaims.

           Graham smiles brokenly. “I think I was. I only woke this morning.” His brother is tired of this back-and-forth and pushes his way into the house, trotting towards one of the back rooms.

           “Grandpa, who’s there?” Henry’s voice calls from inside. He is rubbing his eyes from sleep and making his way to the door in a haze, one hand on top of the white wolf’s head. When he sees Graham, though, he comes awake in a flash. “Graham?”

           He smiles at Henry. He always liked the kid. He was bright and energetic, full of positive energy. Optimistic to no end. “Hi.”

           He is shocked to have Henry bolt to him, hugging him around the waist in a fierce grip. He falls back at the force and quickly regains his footing, bringing an arm to wrap around his back. “You’re back, I can’t believe you’re back!”

           “Didn’t think you’d notice,” he replies with a cheeky grin. It’s a joke veiled in truth, though. He didn’t feel like he made much of an impact on anyone until Emma.

           Henry snorts and then looks him up and down. His nose wrinkles in distaste. “Creepy, you’re in your funeral clothes.”

           He looks down at the strange grey suit with a grimace. Well, that at least clears up why he is wearing something so unusual. Yes, it is indeed “creepy.” He looks back to James who is still gripping the knob with white knuckles. He quirks an eyebrow then turns back to Henry. “Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to find my own things since this morning.”

           James finally snaps out of it. “This morning?” he croaks out.

           Graham turns and nods. “I think … I think I’ve actually been back since last night. However, the … process, thing messed up my system a good lot. I got all my memories back sometime late this morning, passed out, and didn’t wake up from that until about twenty minutes ago.” He feels the cold wash of realization come over him as he realizes he could have been reunited with Emma if only he had come to sooner. He swallows.

           Henry looks intrigued. “Wow, that’s so weird. It took you that long to get your memories back? It didn’t take Grandpa or grandma or Red or anybody else longer than a _second_.”

           Graham shakes his head, biting down the initial jealousy. “Not just my memories of our Land, Henry. It was like my whole brain was rebooted. Everything had to come back and it came slowly.”

           James looks like he is processing still. He seems stunned and like his mind is working out a thousand different branches of thought. Henry doesn’t notice this and drags Graham to the couch in delight.

           “So, you remember everything now, though, right?” he asks excitedly as he sits down, practically bouncing on the cushion.

           Graham smiles and nods. He brushes the kid’s hair back wistfully. He looks like Emma and Snow so much sometimes that he wonders just how much he gets from his biological father. 

           Henry’s eyes twinkle. “There is so much to tell you! First, and most important, my mom’s –“

           “Henry, why don’t you get to bed? We’re going to have a busy day tomorrow and we don’t want to overload the Huntsman so soon,” James cuts him off.

           Henry looks at him in bafflement. “We do?”

           “Yes. We’ve got to start the mission to find Mary Margaret and Emma, don’t we?”

           “Operation Scorpion,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

           “You will most certainly not be lacking help, little Prince.” Graham nudges him to bring about a smile.

           Henry absolutely beams at the endearment. “Okay,” he says and makes his way to the bedroom, his brother following behind protectively.

           “Huntsman, the fact that you are living … I can’t express how shocked and relieved I am. How much this will please my family,” James murmurs, finally shutting the front door.

           Graham gives a half smile. “I thank you, Highness. However, I’d feel more comfortable if you addressed me as Graham.”

           James’ eyes light with confusion before understanding dawns. “Of course. Emma knows you as Graham.”

          Graham looks up, startled. He didn’t expect anyone to understand. “Thank you, King James.”

           “Please,” his king implored. “I feel that my daughter’s chosen shouldn’t have to address me so formally. And my real name is David.”

           Graham looks away at David’s reference to his relationship with Emma. The pain of not being able to see her immediately is still scratching under the surface since he hasn’t been able to express it. The knowledge of a real name for the King is confusing but he shrugs it off. “Do we have any idea how to bring them back?” he asks. He cannot address the man so informally quite yet, so he omits the noun completely. It feels odd on his tongue, words forced back into this throat. Regina had always required that he use her title.

           David sighs and wipes a hand across his face. He laughs bitterly. “Not even part of an idea. I just know that they _have_ to come back. The world can’t be that cruel.”

           Graham flinches because he knows that it _can_ be that cruel. His life was not a map of happiness, from birth to curse. The glint in Regina’s eye whenever she would take his heart from its box and _squeeze_ just to see him in pain is fresh in his mind.

           He shakes his head and refocuses. He thinks of Emma as he last saw her. She had been smiling, beaming really. Her clothes were crumpled, her hair disheveled, cheeks still hot and pink, and she had never looked lovelier. He had been leaning in to kiss her swollen lips again, arms tightening around her waist. They had been so close that he could see every fleck of color and every emotion in her sea-colored eyes. They had been happy in that moment. _She_ had been his happiness. He needs that again, so desperately. He needs to see that joy in her eyes.

           “We’ll figure something out, I promise. If it’s the last thing I do, we’ll get them back,” he says impassionedly.

           David looks at him from the corner of his eye. “I’d rather it not be the last thing you do _again_ , Graham.”

           Graham looks up in surprise. He isn’t used to people caring. “Thanks.” It doesn’t mean that he won’t sacrifice himself for her if it takes that. But it’s nice that someone doesn’t want him to.

           David rises. “I’ll get you something to wear. It’s rather morbid to see that you’re in the clothes you were buried in,” he mutters in disgust. Graham only laughs.

           “Better than what I died in, I suppose. Though it would have suited me better,” he says, irreverently cheerful. Though he remembers that the shirt he’d been wearing would have been missing a few buttons here and there.

           David smirks and tosses him a plaid shirt from the wardrobe by the stairs. Still not his style, but inordinately better than the heavy satin. “Thank you.”

           David studies him a moment. “Do you understand what broke your curse?”

           Graham’s eyes shoot up to meet his. “My curse?” he asks, playing dumb. He is suddenly very aware that he is talking to Emma’s father.

           David nods and hands over some sweat pants as well. “Your curse,” he asserts. “What made you able to regain your memories before you died.”

           He watches him seriously. He realizes that David knows exactly what broke his curse and is only assessing to see if he knows. “I know, David.”

           David nods. “And what is it, Graham?”

           Graham hesitates. He remembers freeing the man in front of him and allowing Snow to escape to the safety of the woods. He remembers a time when Snow was too young to have a daughter, though she is clearly not old enough to have a twenty-eight year old now. He thinks of how Snow is twenty-six to Emma’s twenty-eight, and that he and David are only a few years older. He thinks of how strange this curse that was designed to kill happy endings will bring him his once she is back. Finally, he allows himself to whisper what he knows in his heart to be the absolute truth. “True love.”

           David nods thoughtfully. “This is why I trust you with getting her back.”

           Graham watches him leave the room without another word. He holds the borrowed pajamas in his hand, frozen. Somehow, it hurts even more to have said it out loud. Emma broke his curse, made him able to love without a heart, completed him because of true love’s kiss.

           Now he needs to get their happy ending back.

 

 


	7. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: We have a long way to go, people. And a new POV finally! Contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x03.

 

                She wakes forcefully, being shoved to her feet by bound hands. “Wake up, assassin,” a voice sneers.

                Snow blinks her eyes open to find a warrior in front of her, fully armored. She sucks in a breath in astonishment. This is definitely not Storybrooke. It’s the smell of the air that first warns her that something is off. It is lighter yet somehow weighty, the oxymoron hanging to the breeze in a way she cannot describe. Magic she cannot wield buzzes faintly, with the smell of it clinging to the very earth; it smells like rain on asphalt or dew on glass on a fall morning. It is achingly familiar. She is home.

                She studies her captor, the warrior. The armor he is wearing is detailed elaborately in foreign lettering and design. Thick chainmail dangles from parts of the helmet and chest plate, protecting and obscuring his face and body. She cannot describe his frame, if he is stocky or lean, lithe or brawny. She recognizes it as a clever tactic so you cannot pre-judge your enemy. A weapon, shining and deadly, hangs from his hip. Rope but not rope, that thick leather-like strap common in the Enchanted Forest, bites into the thin skin of her wrists and twists off into a standard coil, a restraint that looks more like a leash.

                A girl stands off to the side near two horses, her head held high and fury fully pronounced in her stance. Her face is porcelain smooth and would be child-like had it not been for the anger pulling her features. Fire licks in her blue eyes, framed by heavy lashes, and her auburn hair is smoothly curled and accentuated by an intricate silver and diamond headband crown, the rest tumbling down her back. Her corseted lavender dress is expensively made and was once perhaps much lovelier; it now looks aged and frayed along its hem. A neighboring princess, she deduces. One she hasn’t met. One to the East, perhaps?

                She staggers forward as she is lashed to one of the horses and then watches as the warrior goes over to a pile of rubble that covers a person. Emma. _Emma_. “No!”

                “You are not to speak, villain,” the princess’ voice rings out from behind her. It sounds like gravel churning in a dove’s throat, unnaturally gruff. She can’t focus though, her mind spinning with worry and disorientation and that is her _daughter_ and they _can’t_.

                “No, you don’t understand! You can’t hurt her!” The warrior kicks debris away from her daughter to better get to her. She strains against the restraints, panic climbing to hysteria. “She’s pregnant!” she cries as a last effort.

                The princess and warrior pause at this. They share a look. The warrior kneels and pulls back Emma’s jacket to expose her obviously distended abdomen. He nods to the princess before the warrior resumes lashing her daughter’s hands, but there is a certain cautiousness to his movements now. “She will still need to speak for her crimes,” the warrior says and it shocks Snow with its stark femininity.

                Emma is pulled to her feet and Snow worries when she doesn’t come around immediately. She fears for her granddaughter as well. They were sucked into a portal and dropped unceremoniously into a pile of rubble. Has the fall harmed them? Finally, Emma stirs and her head lolls to an upright position as her captor gently shakes her awake. “Wha –, who are you?” She looks dazed but otherwise okay and Snow feels her resolve strengthen. She _will_ get them out of this.

                “Don’t speak,” the warrior spits. “We will bring you to camp and then you will be placed on trial.”

                Emma is tied alongside her, connected to her rope and then to the same horse. She gives her a look of worry but says nothing as not to provoke their jailors. The other women share a look and grab the reins of their animals, but Snow notices something. While they are working together, they are not friendly. There is something between them that drives a harsh wedge. She files the information away, wondering if she can use it.

                The walk through the land is harsh. It is nothing at all like Snow remembers. The terrain is unfamiliar, more torn apart, barren. Trees are present in the distance, but they are spotty and thin. Dust picks up and covers then and they cough out the dirt dryly. Snow wants to weep for the realm, her home, Emma’s birthplace. It used to be beautiful, lush and full of life. The curse has ravaged it of its health.

                She remembers running through the grasses as a child, the blades scratching and caressing her bare legs as she screamed in delight and the blue birds flew around her. She can almost feel their wings brushing over her pale skin and the sound of Johanna screaming after her in a voice that betrays her delight.

                She remembers meeting David on the road to the Western Palace, sensing the challenge and attraction between them under the cover of trees. She can smell the distinct woodsy scent of the trees, feel the wind rushing past her as she darted through familiar terrain. She can see the look in his clear eyes as he thought he had her beat.

                She remembers lying beside her husband near the crystal azure lakes on the outskirt of the kingdom, the fresh smell of water and lavender all around them, fingers entwining over the new bump of her belly.

                She shakes off the feelings of nostalgia, remembering another, more present, bump and walks closer to Emma. “Are you all right?”

                Emma glances at their captors atop their horses then nods. “Fine. Any bright ideas?”

                Snow shakes her head. “Not yet. I’m still trying to get a read off this place.” She turns to the pearl colored sky and sighs. Then she glances back at her daughter and gestures to her middle. “Is she okay?”

                Emma looks down at her belly for a second and finally nods. “She’s been moving around. She’s fine.”

                She is flooded with relief. Both of her girls are fine and that makes everything easier. “We’ll get back, Emma. But I’m sure Henry will be fine with David.”

                Emma grimaces but nods stiffly. “Sure, yeah. He was all excited about having a granddad, anyway,” she says dryly. Snow can tell Emma is not yet dealing with their status as parents. She can’t blame her, even though she aches to hold her as a daughter instead of a friend.

                The walking continues. Here and there they are jerked forward as the horses trot faster than they can walk. The women on top slow their animals quickly after, but Snow still manages to get a sharp pang in her stomach each time. She is worried Emma will fall, hit her belly, and injure one or both of them.  Emma only grumbles at the instances but doesn’t seem to be doing poorly. She is surprisingly quick to steady herself at each stumble. Snow should have known that Emma wouldn’t take it lying down. She feels pride swell within her: her daughter.

                Finally they see a beach, foggy and destroyed like the rest of the land. “What is this place?” Snow finally shouts.

                “Our home,” the warrior responds, pulling off her helmet and veil. Underneath is a woman with sharp cheekbones, dark almond eyes, and thick black hair. She is striking but her eyes are stone when she glowers down at the two. They continue up the peninsula. Snow is shocked to see people everywhere as they enter the village. There are this many people still in their land?

                “It’s like they’re refugees,” Emma murmurs thoughtfully.

                Snow understands that thought process. The huts are quickly set up and not built for longevity. The items used to make them are haphazard and mixed. People pick over food items of varying degrees of unusualness or decay. They look dirty, bruised and battered, struggling to survive. The halt in front of larger hut and the people stare at them with distrust.

                The warrior glares at her as she dismounts. “We’re survivors,” she states defensively. She turns her back to give a few orders to the others. The princess is holding onto the rope as a few men work to untie it from the horses until only the leathery strap remains.

                Snow gives a sideways look and prays. With moves she barely remembers, she brings up a knee that slams into the princess’ abdomen and she collapses in a huff. “Emma, run!” she cries and she leaps swiftly for the opening in the trees. Emma’s gait is surprisingly steady for all it lacked in grace, and she overtook her in moments. She feels delight and the opening is _right_ _there_. They will make it to the trees and hide in the forest and she will teach Emma while they find a way home ….

                A sharp pain bursts from her head and neck and there is blackness.

                She feels a little ridiculous as she comes to a second time, sucking in a deep breath of hay and earth. She’s blacked out twice since she’s been back in her land, she recalls. She should be stronger than this. She used to make wise decisions, didn’t she?

                She is disoriented and dizzy. She brings a hand behind her head and feels a lump and wants to groan at the implications of it. She quickly does an internal assessment of her mental facilities and finds that her thoughts are a little muggier.

                She hopes she will relearn her skill and soon, or else they would be doomed.  

                “You’re from over there aren’t you?”

                The voice is so familiar it snaps her out of her reverie. With a hand still to her head, she pulls herself to sitting.

                She is just as she remembered. Eerie and beautiful despite her age with soft brown hair and deceptively kind eyes that can turn cold on a dime. “How did you get back?” she asks Emma with an indulgent, unassuming smile.

                “Emma,” she interjects harshly, rising to her feet and ignoring the flash of pain resounding in her head. “No,” she says under her breath as she sees Cora’s face more clearly. Flashbacks seek her consciousness but she brushes then out of frame as her panic rises.

                “Oh, Snow, you’re awake, I’m so relieved!” she states in a honeyed tone that hides her malice. She wants to shudder, the little girl inside her trembling in fear. However, the mother in her wins out and she grabs Emma’s shoulders. She turns around to face her fully.

                She meets Emma’s gaze head-on and makes sure she knows the seriousness of her next words. “As bad as you think Regina is, this woman is worse,” she whispers, knowing she must look frantic and half-crazed. Emma’s look is as apprehensive as it is disbelieving, her mirrored green eyes pitying.

                “Oh, Snow,” Cora says in false dismay, her hands wringing together.

                Snow turns and pushes Emma firmly behind her in a protective stance. This is her daughter and granddaughter and she will be _damned_ if Cora hurts them no matter how weak she currently feels.

                “Sweet Snow, please,” the witch pleads and Snow backs them up as she comes closer. “Believe me. Whatever she told you isn’t true. I just want to help you.”

                Snow remembers a similar plea. _Oh, sweet Snow. It’s alright. She won’t lose me. You can tell me. You must tell me._

                “Let’s hear her out,” Emma whispers from behind her.

                “Emma,” she reprimands firmly. She will not be fooled by this woman again. She _can’t_ be fooled by this woman again, not after the misery that happened after last time. If she had not been swayed into telling her about Regina and Daniel, she might have been able to raise Emma as she saw fit.

                “Okay.” Emma says, her voice conceding but also reasoning. “But you have a minor head injury, I’m still almost eight months pregnant, and right now we are at the bottom of a hole with no other options. And Henry? He is back at Storybrooke with Regina,” Emma whispers back, her voice gaining desperation as the sentence lengthened.

                Cora’s face remains innocently confused as to invite sympathy. “My, eight months, I wouldn’t have guessed so much! You are barely showing, my dear.” Snow represses the urge to laugh. Emma may have been able to hide it for a lengthy amount of time in heavy winter gear, but her pregnancy is anything but inconspicuous in warm-weather clothing. Cora hesitates and Snow can see the manipulation stirring behind her dark eyes. “Who’s Henry?”

                “My son. I kind of share him with Regina. It’s complicated,” Emma rattles off.

                Snow’s head rolls back with her eyes and she faces Emma with a look denoting her displeasure. She grips her jacket with both hands to startle her. “Don’t talk to her,” she says forcefully, stressing each word to get her point across.

                “Enough!” A voice from above calls. They all look up to see a face blocking the sun and a rope thrown down. “Our leader requests an audience.”

                She throws a look to Cora and then back to Emma. She glances up again and calls out, “I’m fine getting up that rope, but how’s a pregnant woman going to do it?”

                Emma huffs a sigh. “I’m not totally incompetent.”

                Snow shoots her a look. “But you’re also very middle-heavy right now,” she replies, wincing slightly. She knows she’s pushing Emma but at this point she is trying to get her to think rationally and realize the danger they’re in.

                Emma shakes her head and grabs the rope. “I still have some core strength, despite this one,” she protests grumpily. She proves just that by shimmying her way up a third of the length in as much time as she spits out the sentence. The whole process should have been more awkward, like her running, but after Emma pulled the rope to follow the outside of her belly, she was able to make quick work of it. She pauses as the rope goes taut and shifts from its perfect position and Snow can hear her stubborn daughter panting.

                “Dammit, Emma,” Snow sighs and positions herself to be able to break her theoretical fall.

                “Stop right there. We’ll pull you up the rest of the way,” the man from above calls. She’s not sure if it’s from worry for their captive or worry that their rope will snap.

                Snow bites down her panic at what could be up top. Neither option, Emma being above without her nor Emma being below with Cora, is a good one.

                Once two men bring Emma to the ground and the rope is thrown back down, she climbs up with precision, fear edging her movements.

                Emma looks indignant when she meets her, arms folded on top of her belly. Her face looks like David so much in that moment that Snow is stricken speechless. It is her father remade without the amusement, staring up at her as she clings to the trap. Everyone has mentioned how much Emma looks like her that she is startled to see her reflect her father in such a way.

                Their captors grumble as they pull them forward, their modern shoes making a scraping noise in the packed russet earth. Emma glares ahead, focusing on her steps.

                “Why can’t you just listen to me?” Snow finally asks as they are lead away, back into the village. She is so worried; there are so many dangers here and they will never get anywhere if Emma is challenging her at every turn.

                “Why couldn’t you have just trusted me, I was just trying to find a way to get us home,” Emma grumbles back. She sighs. “I could have handled her.”

                Snow holds back a snort. “Cora?! Don’t be so sure,” she jabs. “I’ve lived here, Emma. I know this world. And it’s dangers.”

                “Wait here,” the guard grunts, tired of their bickering. He goes ahead to duck inside one of the makeshift houses.

                Emma heaves a sigh and then faces her. “Is that why you came through the portal? ‘Cause you thought I was helpless here?” Her eyebrow quirks up as she says it and her hands fall to her hips. Snow can tell she is relieving her back pain just as much as she is asserting her strengths. She recognizes the action for when she did it. Her girl, trying to hide her weaknesses with bravado. She wonders how long she’s had to do that.

                Snow shakes her head to her question. “No,” Snow says, her eyes misting and her voice cracking. “I came here to be with you.”

                That is honestly it. This is her _child_. The roommate and friend that she has helped and been helped by over the past year is also her daughter. She has held her as a tiny newborn, pressing a kiss to her brow with tears streaming down her face and hope catching the breath in her breast. She has held her as a woman, as she grieved for the father of her child, breaking down _finally_ into heart shattering sobs and soul aching screams. Now, she needs to know this woman as _family_ and not just as the woman who tries so hard to build walls and run from her problems. They were friends before but she is determined that they will be closer through this experience.

                The facts that she would be there to guide Emma, to be able to help her through the dangers, and even help her with her pregnancy are only bonuses.

                Emma’s lips rise into a half-smile, brushing a hand across her belly easily. Snow’s eyes follow the movement, feeling enthusiastic at the idea of their family growing.

                “She’ll be beautiful,” Snow murmurs as she considers it.

                She is imagining more towards the spiritual side than the physical. Though true that Emma is a stunning woman and the Huntsman had been an exceedingly handsome man, she is more aware of how strong they both are, how honorable, how fiercely _good_. She pictures the meld of her daughter and the Huntsman, the kind soul that will be passed down.

                Her grandchildren will be the benefit of the curse. Henry and this child would have never existed without it. It is purely ironic that it also allowed the man who saved her life to be doubly responsible for this child’s life.  

                Emma’s head bows, seeming to recognize what she is not voicing. “Of course she will be; she’s half Graham,” she says with a careful laugh.

                She presses her lips together, holding back from the impulse to embrace her. The shadows are more prominent in her eyes again. She wishes there is some way to take care of them completely.

                Movement from the hut catches her eye and she sees dark metal armor emerge with a dark cape swishing behind and then the smooth ebony face she remembers so well. Suddenly, hope to get out of this place swells within her.

                “Lancelot?”

                He grins at her and she is awash with relief.

 


	8. David (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter is an interlude, containing no dialogue from the show. Chapter 9 ended up being shorter than I would have liked and I promised that no chapter would be as short as chapter 4 was; thus, there will be a brief update on Thursday of this week before going back to the regular schedule. I realize posting the Monday after the premiere makes this story a lot of white noise; thanks for all that’ll stick with it!

                 David makes sure he is the first awake in the apartment. Well, at least, he thinks so.

                He’s been mostly unable to sleep properly. His family is gone, his grandson suffered major emotional trauma, and there is a dead man asleep on his couch. His typical light sleeping has turned into full-blown insomnia, and with good reason.

                Around five in the morning, he shuffles up the stairs and down the hall to Henry’s room. The house is silent. Had Snow been there, it would have been alight with life. She had always tried to do things quietly in the morning but rarely succeeded. Cleaning left the night before would have been tended to: dishes washed, floor swept, plants pruned. Even in their world, she said that cleaning soothed her and she tended to some menial tasks in the mornings before he woke. After, she would be humming as she indulged in some morning activity, reading or knitting while drinking a cup of steaming tea.

                The floor creaks under his feet as he approaches the room Henry is sleeping in. It is absolutely imperative that he speaks to Henry before Henry speaks to Graham. He was only just able to stop him from spilling secrets the night before and he doesn’t need that again.

                “Henry?” he calls, lightly knocking. The wolf pops his head up from the foot of the bed and stares at him cautiously. Henry sits right up as well. Something he learned quickly the night before last is that Henry is a hard sleeper. This proved that he, too, had not been sleeping well.

                “Hey grandpa,” he says in a hushed tone. A pang goes through him. The title still gave him chills in the best way.

                He moves along the side of the bed, subtly avoiding the wolf. He sits down and looks upon the boy’s pallor. He brushes back a lock of sweat matted hair and sighs. “Not gonna be the best week for sleep.”

                Henry shrugs. “I think I got my share.”

                David winces, remembering that he had been in a sleeping curse only two days ago. “Yeah, sorry, kid,” he replies.

                Henry plays with a thread on the bedspread and speaks what has been keeping him up. “Do you have a plan yet?”

                David looks away and then turns back to him. “I think I have a place to start.” He does. It has to do with the maker of the hat who he needs to track down. Unfortunately, that will involve Regina. “But we need to talk about Graham.”

                Henry’s posture straightens, his dark eyes attentive. “We need to tell him about Emma, about my sister,” he whispers, delight crossing his face plainly.

                David shakes his head harshly. “No, Henry. We can’t be the ones to tell him.”

                Henry gave a look of confusion. “Why not? He needs to know about my sister, so she can know about him, too. Emma’s his true love and that’s his daughter. She’s his family,” he demands, arms folding. David also notes something in Henry’s tone left unsaid, that Graham would be his family, too. It turns something in his stomach to think that he may not be enough for his grandson. He focuses instead on the protective nature of his tone when talking about his sister. He hasn’t even met her yet. She will be one lucky sibling … as long as David gets her back to this world.

                David grasps his shoulders and makes sure Henry is looking at him, refocusing his thoughts on his plan. “Henry, imagine for a second. Graham has been _dead_ for nearly eight months. He died in Emma’s arms, and Emma isn’t even here, she’s in our old world. Imagine how that hurts him. Nobody but us knows he is even alive and he’ll have to come back to society. And then Regina is still out there and we need to watch out for her. He’s going to have to handle a lot. We don’t need to drop another bombshell on that man,” he advises.

                Henry shakes his head. “But won’t that make him fight harder?”

                David gives a pained smile. “It might. But I think he’ll fight enough just for your mom. Besides, you know your mom will want to be the first one to tell him. Think how disappointed she would be if she wasn’t the one to.”

                Henry looks torn. His eyes are wide and he hates that he is making him keep this secret, that he’s manipulating him in this way. But David feels certain that they need to. Graham doesn’t need to know that he’s fighting for two lives that he’s intimately connected to; he would be that much more willing to lay down his own.

                He can’t have that happen again.  

                This is David’s family. His wife, his daughter, his grandchildren. And he is more than willing to take Graham on as son-in-law.

                Is it ideal? No; he wishes to have time where Emma is just his daughter. He’s not especially keen on the idea that the infant he remembers so vividly will be in a romantic relationship with a man that is technically his age. A man who has already impregnated his child.

                David is not stupid. He is willing to admit that even if Graham hadn’t returned, Emma would not be a little girl needing constant supervision. Emma is fiercely independent. Though she may take David and Snow’s help, she would not take their hovering. She would resent that immensely. She has her children to take care of, who will also share her love. It will never be just them three, as he had wished when she was first placed in his arms.

                Besides which, David knows not to mess with true love. He will not allow that look of devastation to light Emma’s eyes again. He will make sure Graham will be there to help fix that half, to heal those leftover wounds.

                Henry frowns. “What happens if I slip up?”

                David smiles, relief pooling into him. Henry is willing, thank God. “We’ll deal with it then, Henry. But you’ve been so good at keeping secrets and this is a big one. We’ll have to talk with Gold and anyone else that knows and help them keep it secret, too.”

                Henry frowns deepens. “My mom knows.”

                David matches it. If Regina ever decided that the knowledge would work in her favor …. “That will be a problem when we come to it. Hopefully she will know to stay away from him.”

                Henry hesitates. “Did she … did my mom … did she kill Graham?”

                Silence fills up the room, stifling them. _Yes_ , he wants to scream. _She crushed his heart just like she was planning to do to me before you stopped it._ He swallows thickly. “Please, don’t worry about that right now. Graham’s back. He’s alive and in our living room. And we’re going to get our family back, too.”

                Henry’s eyes are forlorn. “But … we don’t know how he came back. What if it doesn’t last?”

                David’s eyes close tightly. He hates this. Where is his grandson’s everlasting confidence that things will turn out right? He could kill Regina just for denting that. “We have to believe, Henry. He was brought back for a reason and we have to believe that it was so he and Emma can be together again.”

                Henry hesitates but finally gives a sharp nod, hope once again coming into his dark eyes. “Okay. Okay, I’ll believe. They have true love.”

                “Operation Scorpion?”

                “Operation Scorpion. And Operation Swan, keeping my sister secret,” he states firmly, wiping his palms on his pajama bottoms.

                David grins. “It’s still early. Wanna get out and go to Granny’s before we start this mission?”

                He nods and rises from the bed. The wolf raises its head but then falls back down again. “Yeah, let’s get some food.”

                He helps Henry into the only clothes he has here. They will unfortunately have to stop by Regina’s to get more. That will be an interesting trip. And where did Graham’s things go after he died? He rubs his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache start.

                “All set, kid?” he asks distractedly. He is dressed, but thinks he should grab a sweater from the truck before they head out in earnest.

                Henry nods as he ties his shoes. “Set.”

                They enter the living area cautiously, but once they reach the couch, they find Graham only staring at the ceiling, an arm thrown across his forehead. His eyes crinkle as he sees them. “Morning.”

                David shakes his head. “Did any of us get rest?” he sighs.

                Graham chuckles and pushes to an upright position. “Going somewhere?” There is blatant hope in his voice.

                David nods. “Food first. Granny’s. Are you ready to reenter the living?” he asks wryly.

                Graham rolls up the flannel sleeves. “Might as well do it sometime. You have anything I can borrow or I am arriving in silk trousers and flannel?”

                David shakes his head good-humoredly. “I think I have extra jeans here.”

                Accommodating will be interesting. Henry in Emma’s bed, he in Snow’s, and Graham taking the couch would work for now. They’d need something different when the girls returned. _When_.

                He returns to see Graham and Henry talking side-by-side. He does a quick double-take and shakes his head. They almost look related. He’s had too little sleep, he surmises.

                “Let’s get going,” he says as he tosses him the item of clothing. Graham smiles his thanks and goes to the bathroom to change.

                Henry gives him a smile. “Operation Swan is in full effect,” he says with a thumb’s up.

                The group head to Granny’s while it’s still early. The sun has risen but its low in the horizon. It’s dewy and chilled despite the summer month. They hesitate at the door. Graham pulls a hand through the stubble on his chin. “I can’t exactly just walk in and say ‘I’m not dead,’ can I?” he says sardonically. Worry still plays across his features.

                David shakes his head. “I’ll go first and … warn people. Henry, stay with Graham and run interference with anyone coming up, okay?”

                Henry’s look is serious. “Got it!”

                David enters the shop and sees Granny wiping down the counter and Red sweeping in the back. “You’re open?” he asks.

                Granny smiles warmly. “Yes, James, we are. Still gotta feed the hungry masses! Should we get a nice breakfast for you and Henry?”

                Red walks up and gives him a hug, her face determinedly fierce. He notices that she is dressing more life herself now. Her stomach is covered and most of her cleavage is below her neckline. Her makeup is more natural, her hair curly and falling around her shoulders. She’s no longer dressing to anger her grandmother. She looks like Red instead of Ruby and it makes him nostalgic. She grasps his forearms as she pulls away. “We also want to offer our help. Anything we can do to get Emma and Snow back.”

                David smiles weakly. “Thank you, Red, Granny. I will be taking you up on that.” He shoots a look to the door. “We have a development in a different area.”

                Granny’s look is all business, the rag stilling in her hand. “What’s going on?” He smiles slightly, knowing that if his next words involved them being in danger, she’d be organizing the hunting party immediately.

                “Graham’s alive.”

                There is absolute stillness after that. Finally Red breathes. “Really?” her voice cracks.

                Granny holds a hand to her heart. “Oh, thank God,” she exhales. “That boy was far too young to be passing on so soon. And a heart attack? That always seemed too fishy.” Then she looks puzzled. “Do we know who he was back then?”

                David nods. “He was a friend. He gave up his freedom for Snow and I. For Emma, ultimately.”

                Red bites her lip, resting her forearms on the counter. “The Huntsman. Snow mentioned him. Oh, God, Regina must’ve killed him.” He can see the wheels turning. She was there, helping them the night of the wraith, and knows he needs to bring it up.

                David closes his eyes briefly. “Red, you can’t tell him what you know about Emma.”

                Red looks stricken but Granny’s look is knowing. “You mean that’s she’s pregnant?” the older woman asks.

                David stifles a groan. “ _You_ know?”

                “Oh, honey,” Granny begins, tossing her rag down and placing her hands on her hips. “The girl switched from three coffees a day and the occasional beer or something harder to _strictly_ tea and hot chocolate. I’ve known a good long time.”

                David’s face screws up. “Does anyone else know?”

                Granny and Red share a look and shrug. “August and her were close, wherever he is. And knowing Regina, I bet she’d have gotten wind of it, somehow.”

                “Why don’t you want him to know, James?” Red asks next, refocusing.

                He almost winces at Red calling him by that name, but he can’t go into _why_ his real name is David just yet. He had always been Prince or King James in their world. He had been David only to his parents and to Snow in the most private settings. She preferred to use his nickname more often, however. He fumbles in his head for an excuse to her question.

                “Is it his kid?” Granny adds. Then she shakes her head as if realizing how it sounds. “Never mind, it’s not any of my business.”

                “It’s mine, she’s my goddaughter,” Red grumbles. Then she frowns. “But I have no clue _when_ that could have happened.” She looks thoughtful and he is greatly disturbed by the fact that Red is trying to pinpoint when the two could have conceived a child. It’s too much; if she keeps that look on her face _he_ might start thinking about it.

                “Guys, stop,” David says, holding his head. “He can’t know, so put a lid on it. If you happen to speak to anyone else that knows, please pass the word on. I gotta go back out or else this is going to look suspicious.”

                David leaves the restaurant knowing that the two women would keep the secret just because he asked. He’s unsure how the others will be to the same request. He sighs when he approaches the guys. Henry is staring at the street attentively, eyes rapidly darting back and forth through the street, looking very much like a watch dog. However, this early after the broken curse, no one else seems to be awake and active. Graham gives a half shrug and David nods. Graham takes Henry carefully by the shoulder and they go back in wordlessly.

                Red is outright staring at Graham as she approaches. Her mouth is slack and her eyes are wide, as if she’d blink and he’d disappear. “Wow. Hey, Graham,” she says tentatively.

                Graham smiles timidly. “Hey, Ruby. How are you?”

                Red shakes her head, looking at him in a daze. “This is so strange. Welcome back.” She pulls her arms around him tightly and Granny is right behind her.

                “Sheriff, it’s good to see you again,” Granny says and there is a hitch in her voice. “Coffee for the adults? Yeah, I’ll get some ready.” She leaves in a hurry, not necessarily hiding her emotion.

                Red wipes tears from her eyes and finally smiles. “God, I’m such a wreck. What do you guys want?”

                Henry pipes up. “Do you have avocado?”

 

 

 

 


	9. Regina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a new POV again! I actually wrote this in after writing chapter 10 since I noticed that I needed something to explain motivations. Contains some dialogue from 2x02.
> 
> It actually ended up being longer than I thought, but still on the short side. Back to regular posting Monday!

                The candle flickers and then flames, its pale gold light swaying in the gentle breeze from the open window. The soft light reflects against the creamy lightness of the wax, causing it to pool and overflow down from its tapered top.

                Regina smiles. She can feel the magic swelling inside her, ready to be expelled. She didn’t feel this way when the citizens attacked her or when the imprint of the wraith was seared into her flesh. No, this was something different.

                It came from outside herself.

                It came from that damn woman.

                No matter, as long as she had her magic back. But once she turns to try to flame the logs in the fireplace the same as she did the candle, the light flickers and dies, the smoke rising from the kindling like a ghost mocking her inability. Her fingers fly again, throwing more power behind it. To her horror, she feels that the power is sapping, and she cannot even get the smoke to rise.

                “No, no, no, no!” she cries, grabbing a book off the mantle and throwing it to the ground with a clatter, its pages scattering across the floor after the spine collapses.

                She drags a hand through her cropped hair and shakes with frustration. Yesterday, the magic had been potent, like a drunk sort of clarity that her fingers itched to expel into creative expression. She had used it in new ways, conjuring the wallpaper into a weapon, something she’s never done before. The power had been heady. Was that how Miss Swan felt all the time?

                She breathes in deeply, flexing her fingers once again, back to the candle. The flame is weaker this time, but there is still some magic left.

                A product of true love. Who knew that was the key to power? Her mother and father had certainly not had true love. What her and Daniel had may have been, but it was violently yanked away before she had the chance to fully explore it. She closes her eyes, wishing not for the first time that she had subverted the traditions and made love to Daniel before her mother had the chance to lay a finger on him. Sometimes, if she thinks hard enough, she could translate the memory of his kisses and the feel of his calloused fingers on the skin of her forearms into a lover’s touch. Snow had killed any chance of its reality.

                Regina destroyed any chance for a product of true love of her own long ago. It had been before her wedding night, when she had begged Rumplestiltskin for a reprieve. He gave her one in a potion that would destroy her womb. She didn’t want any more heirs for King Leopold and certainly no more Snows walking around that world, so she had gladly drank the noxious fluid. Later, the old man hadn’t even _tried_ to touch her, insisting instead that she be a mother to Snow only.

                She had gladly brewed the potion again when King George sought a punishment for his new heir.

                But that insipid girl had found a cure and birthed a Savior. At least with this curse she had some peace in that the woman would never know what it was to hold her infant, to raise it. She hopes Snow suffers with the knowledge every time she looks at the golden haired adult.

                Regina had been smarter about things. Even after she destroyed her chance at pregnancy, she hadn’t destroyed her chance to be a mother.

                Henry, oh, God, Henry. She would get Henry back if it was the last thing she did. She is that boy’s mother and she will prove it to everyone. He will come to her in the end. If she has to destroy everyone in her path to get him, she will. _That_ is true love.

                If it wasn’t for Miss Swan, everything would be perfect. She would have her son, the town would be under her thumb, her lust would be slaked on demand, and while her magic would be at bay it wouldn’t be so bad because it meant Snow White was suffering.

                The damn woman isn’t even here and she is still making a mess of things. Henry is no longer living with her because of Swan.

                First, she causes Henry to run away. Then, she moves to Storybrooke and slowly drives a wedge between her and her son. Then, she is able to pull Graham from under her careful fog of influence. She forced her hand, made her kill her most valuable pet. Then, being the idiotic woman that she is, she gets knocked up and Henry becomes even _more_ attached. Then, she breaks her carefully constructed curse.

                Every time she thinks she’s ruined the Charming family for good, they manage to weasel their way out of it. She presses a hand to her temple. It’s just not fair. She is the one that was supposed to get a happy ending, not them.

                Graham returning just adds a multitude of layers of horrible. Somehow, if ‘Stitskin is to be trusted, Swan’s powers brought back her happy ending. The father of her second bastard child to round out the saccharine family of sunshine and rainbows.

                How is that fair? How is it that Emma gets her love revived from the dead but Daniel remains frozen in death, forever and ever?

                There is a knock on her door and her lips purse into a tight frown. It couldn’t be the townsfolk; they prefer to barge in. She walks stiffly to the entrance and pulls open the door.

                “Regina,” David nods. She almost smirks at his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and the bottom is smeared with dark bruises. His face is pale, face unshaven. He looks positively miserable and that couldn’t make her happier.

                She widens the door and he pushes past her, bumping into her shoulder purposefully as he strides in. When it is shut, he turns to her. “What is this?” he asks, holding up Jefferson’s damaged hat.

                She raises her head and arches a brow. “I’m surprised you don’t have armed guards ‘round the clock.”

                He smiles. “Don’t need it. We both know the moment you walk outside, there’s a mile long line for your head.”

                She huffs, tossing her shoulders back. “Who’s going to risk coming at me?” Her fingers twitch again slightly, searching for what is left of the power boost Miss Swan had inadvertently given her.

                David shakes his head. “Take your chances, then. But I think that little wallpaper trick? Was an anomaly. If you had your abilities back, this town would be _charcoal_ by now.”

                She frowns, knowing it to be true.

                He picks up on it, proving he is not always as stupid as she believes him to be. Oh, certainly stupid enough, but not as much as he once was. “You’re having problems with magic, aren’t you?” He sneers. “Right now, do you know what’s the only thing keeping you alive? It is that Henry wishes it,” he threatens. He gestures with the hat again. “Now, this.”

                Her eyes flicker down at it and then meet his again. Does he honestly think she will respond to his baseless threats? Idiot. “It’s the hat that pulled your loved ones away,” she says flatly.

                He audibly takes a deep breath and releases it. “Well,” he drawls. “Where did you get it?”

                She looks away, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her clothing. “Oh, I’ve long since forgotten.” If he’s not able to get to them, well, that would solve at least half her problems. “You know what? Maybe, you should be less concerned with useless hats, and more concerned with taking care of my _son_.”

                His jaw tightens. “Oh, because you took such great care of him.”

                This strikes a nerve and her blood rushes through her veins. She itches to dissolve him to dust. “I will _not_ listen to child care lectures from a man who put his daughter in a _box_ and shipped her to Maine,” she counters hotly.

                His face pulls with regret. “Okay, fine.” He sighs. “Apparently you forgot to mention to us yesterday that Graham is alive. He is taking care of Henry as well. If you don’t trust me, surely you trust Henry’s future stepfather.”

                Regina’s feels heat creep up her neck, jealousy and anger fueling her words. “I apologize if my imminent death was higher on my list of priorities than telling you that the man who knocked up your daughter had come wandering into the station earlier.” And she doesn’t trust Graham with him. She doesn’t trust anyone with her son’s well-being but herself.

                David stiffens. “Fine.” He seems to deflate suddenly and she can practically see the tears brewing behind his eyes. “Okay, listen. I need my family. There’s magic here now. There will have to be ways to follow them.”

                Her eye twitches. “Follow them where? Into a sucking airless void? And good luck getting magic to work. Because, as you said, you’d be charcoal.”

                David smirks. “Oh, frustrated, are we? Serves you right. You’ve earned every bit of this.”

                She squares her shoulders, jaw setting. “Keep on baiting me, Charming. Right now, I don’t have magic and I don’t have my son. But, when I get one, I get the other. And you don’t want to be around when that happens.”

                He shakes his head sadly. “If you have to use magic to keep Henry, you don’t really have him.”

                “We’ll just see about that,” she counters.

                The silence builds between them, tension pulled taut against the air. Finally, David murmurs, “Henry will need his things.”

                Regina blinks. At least he is thinking about her son’s welfare now. “I will gather them and send them early tomorrow,” she says, wondering how it will feel to see Henry’s life packed in boxes to be shipped to the _Charmings_ of all people.

                David leans against the pillar and stares blankly at the hat. “You say you want to do right by Henry,” he says, rolling the brim in his hands. “Then tell me who made the hat. Henry wants his family, including his purely innocent sister, back.”

                Regina feels a pang inside her. Not for the innocence of the sister, no, that has never stopped her before. Instead, it is for Henry, who somehow believes in and loves this sibling already. She feels herself submit before the words actually come. “His name is Jefferson. He lives in the mansion on the hill. _But_ I doubt he will have any more magic than I do.”

                “Thank you,” David says. As he leaves, his hand lingers on the door. “Regina …,” he begins, then shakes his head. “Thank you for loving Henry.”

                Regina frowns. “He’s my son. Of course I do.”

                David smiles. “You didn’t have to.” He shuts the door behind him.

                She curls her nose and twists back to the candle, watching the small flame dance. She needs her powers back to their full potential. She needs Henry back.

 

 


	10. Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: We aren’t back in the Enchanted Forest yet, but we do have one more new POV (this POV won’t show up again for a long while). There is also some dialogue and spoilers from 2x02, and this may be the longest chapter yet. No Thursday update this week, sorry guys!
> 
> P.S. A moment of silence for the shippers that died of Gremma feels last night via shoelace. I was among them (and may have spammed the crap out of my tumblr with feels).

               It is going to be one of those kinds of days.

               After breakfast, they had split ways. His grandpa left to “get his clothes” from his mom. Henry isn’t stupid. He knows what his grandpa is doing and a part of him still worries. She almost killed him last time.

               Graham and him are headed to Mr. Gold’s to get his stuff. They duck past the townsfolk who are just waking up and don’t pay attention to the man with his eyes turned to the sidewalk and the young boy grasping his hand. He knows Graham is worried about telling people about himself, though he can’t imagine why just yet.

               Henry sighs as he kicks a stone in his path. He still feels exhausted, but also weirdly awake. His body is buzzing with activity even as he drags his feet.

               Graham seems to notice his uneasiness and smiles down at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, your granddad will be fine.”

               Henry makes a face. “Yeah, I know. But I feel like we should be helping, too, you know?”

               Graham frowns. “Sure, I know the feeling. I should probably be starting up the sheriff’s office again, too.”

               Henry studies Graham. So far, Graham had been more like … well, _Graham_ than the Huntsman in his book. Of course, a lot of things probably changed in almost thirty years. He really likes him. He’s one of the good guys and he really wants to help out the people even though, according to his book, he never trusted them.

               He remembers when he was younger. People would be afraid to _look_ at him the wrong way since he was the mayor’s son. But Graham used to be one of the few that gave him attention. He would talk with him without talking down to him, making him laugh at stupid jokes. Graham never made him feel like he was crazy, though he never did anything to feed his so-called delusions until, of course, he remembered that they were anything but. It was only once his mom noticed that Graham stopped talking to him.

               He remembers that day best. It was at Granny’s, after school and he had been waiting for his mom. Graham had come in and fell into easy banter with him. On a whim, Graham had showed him how to hold and aim a dart properly. After several minutes, Henry was getting frustrated with not hitting the target. Graham had been patient and finally picked him up to place him standing on a bar stool and aligned his arm. He had only hit the far side of the board, but he had been so proud and Graham had laughed out in delight. Henry had brought his arms around his neck to hug him in thanks and that’s when he saw his mom’s face over his shoulder. Her eyes had been narrow and darker than he had ever seen them, mouth twisted into a snarl and jaw clenched. After that, there were no more conversations, even idly. Occasionally, Graham would smile at him or rest a hand on his head, but that was the extent of it until Emma came.

               “Do you wanna go to the office? I can come, too. Emma lets me all the time,” Henry offers, feeling almost-a-little bad about the lie.

               Graham shoots him a look that tells him all he needs to know about the former Huntsman’s gullibility. “Sure, Henry. All the time.” He can’t seem to keep a smile from crossing his face. “We’ll see how things are after we go to Gold’s and see what we can divine from him.”

               The shop bell chimes as they enter the store. Mr. Gold is using a brush on one of the figurines and smiles without looking up. “Back so soon, Huntsman?”

               Graham stiffens at the name, his whole body on edge. Henry wonders about it but doesn’t press.

               “Do you have Graham’s stuff, Mr. Gold? I remember mom talking about you having some things but I wasn’t sure,” Henry speaks up, knowing instinctively that he can act as a buffer.

               Gold levels him with a look of disinterest before returning to the figurine, a soldier in tin. “Got it packed in storage, I believe.”

               “Well, I’ll be needing it,” comes Graham’s curt response.

               Gold looks up, his gaze evaluating. “It’ll come with a price, dearie.”

               Graham’s eyes narrow and Henry gets worried. Rumplestiltskin’s deals were never a good thing. “And what would that be?”

               Gold smiles and cocks his head to the side. “Why, just a strand of your hair.”

               Graham’s brow furrows as he absently grasps a lock in his fingers. “Why would you want –“

               “No,” Henry cuts in. He takes a couple steps forward, as if he can protect Graham. “No, no hair.”

               Graham grabs his shoulder gently and pulls him back to him. “Why not, Henry?”

               Henry tilts his head up to look at him. “He wants another true love potion. He’d need my mom’s hair, too, but that’s what he wants. More magic, the most powerful kind.”

               Graham’s eyes unfocus when he mentions Emma but they clear almost immediately.

               Gold smirks, rounding the counter and leaning against his cane. “A smart boy, you are, Henry. Been reading the book, have you? Well, what’s so wrong with a true love potion? It is the purest form of magic. I am a fan of true love, as I’m sure you know. _Especially_ what it creates.”

               Henry’s stomach is churning and he feels worry creep into his intestines to burrow and nest. He swallows hard. Emma is a product of true love and that’s why she is so powerful. Graham’s curse broke because Emma is _his_ true love. What would that make his sister? He nods purposefully, feeling defensive. “He shouldn’t have to give you anything. It’s his stuff.”

               Graham’s hands are tightening on his shoulders, bringing him to stand behind him. Despite this, he glances up to Mr. Gold. “He has a point, ‘Stiltskin.”

               Gold sneers. “Oh, you think so, do you, Huntsman?”

               Graham’s eyes dart to the back and then to Mr. Gold’s face with sudden understanding at the quietness in the shop. “Where’s Belle?”

               Gold’s eye twitches, just slightly, but it’s enough to make Henry realize that they might be able to get out of this without a terrible deal. “She’s gone. She preferred not to stay with me after what I did to Regina.”

               Graham’s face breaks into a sudden smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, maybe I will talk to her if you give me my things.”

               Henry’s breath releases in a long whoosh. He didn’t even realize he was holding it. Graham was brilliant! This way, he wouldn’t have to make a deal and Mr. Gold wouldn’t have any more magic than he already had.

                Gold is studying Graham intently and it brings back the worry. “I’ll help you get it out of storage, Mr. Gold,” he interjects and pulls Mr. Gold by the hand to the back of the store, despite Graham’s protests. He looks back. “It’s okay, Graham. That looks like a box there. I’ll get the rest.”

                He pulls Mr. Gold into the depths of the shop and notices that the older man is onto him. “What is this about, Henry?”

                Henry sighs and peers around the corner. Graham is looking at him, his dark blue eyes intensely fixed on him but just out of earshot. He looks back at Gold. “Look, you can’t tell Graham about my sister.”

                Mr. Gold’s eyebrow raises but otherwise he doesn’t give a reaction.

                Henry sighs, trying to remember all the arguments his grandpa made that morning but at the end he leaves it all out. “ _Please_ , promise me. I’ll help with Belle, too. I’m a kid. Girls like kids!”

                Gold shakes his head, chuckling. “I will keep my knowledge to myself if you bring her this.” He pulls a locket, seemingly out of nowhere, to dangle pendulously in the air. Henry studies it, fascinated. It is a thick oval made of soft silver, gleaming in the low light, with a deep purple stone at its center. It smells like rain.

                “What is it?”

                Gold smirks. “It’s protection.”

                Henry grabs it, finding that it is ice cold in his hands. He winces and drops it hastily in his pocket. It chills him slightly, but then he feels stronger, more in control. His eyes meet Gold’s. “Fine. Where’s Graham’s stuff?”

                They gather his things quickly. Mr. Gold basically lied as most of his things are boxed in one of the rooms as if he was expecting him. There were only a couple extra things in his attic. Graham has taken to actually physically moving Henry out of Gold’s way whenever he gets too close. Maybe it’s a good thing. They don’t know how much they can trust Rumplestiltskin, after all. But he was Belle’s beast, so maybe he’s not all bad.

                They are back on the street, clothing and personal things back at the apartment, an hour later. Henry and Graham are heading to the town square so they can get to the library. Henry’s pocket warms suddenly and he frowns. He pulls the locket from his pocket and stares at it. The stone looks more like a diamond now and is warmer than the air around them.

                Graham glances down at him, sensing his change in mood. “What?”

                Henry shakes his head. “Not sure. Let’s get it to Belle.” He stuffs it hastily back in his pocket.

                “Henry! Oh, Henry, where’s your grandpa?” a cry rings out and then suddenly Archie is running toward him. He stops short when he sees Graham. He gapes at him a moment or two and Henry thinks that this is probably the most bug-like he’s seen Dr. Hopper.

                Graham smiles nervously and awkwardly juts out a hand. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Hopper.”

                Archie sputters a moment and then is joined by Mother Superior. “Jiminy, we need to collect more people to head the Crisis Center and …,” she trails off at the sight of Graham. “Sheriff?”

                Henry rolls his eyes. “He’s alive, he’s okay, now what do you need?”

                Blue’s mouth opens and shuts before she shakes her head. There is something weird in the light in her eyes, something he can’t describe. It fades quickly. “We’ve been needing more people for the Crisis Center, but what we really need is King James. His meeting is starting in twenty minutes.”

                Henry and Graham exchange a glance. “His meeting?”

                Archie nods. “He called a meeting so he could tell us his plan.”

                Graham’s mouth sets in a firm line. Henry knows full well that it is unlikely that his grandfather found a plan that quickly, especially without telling them. “David was finishing up interrogating someone who may know how to get Emma and Snow,” Graham says evenly. “I’d love to help, but ….” He looks down at him again but there is a different worry in his eye as they meet.

                “Of course, Sheriff. I think it might cause more issues if you were heading up a command post, anyway. However, if you do see the king,” Jiminy said, still staring at him curiously.

                Graham nodded. “I will send him your way.”

                Henry takes his hand and they head in the direction of the library again. “Why are you so worried about people knowing you’re back?”

                Graham sighs. “It’s hard to explain, Henry,” he says and they round the library and sit out of sight. His eyes seem distressed and he begins pacing. “It’s a lot of reasons, Henry. First … well, I wasn’t exactly well-liked here. Regina … she had me under her thumb and everyone knew it. Back there, I was the Evil Queen’s huntsman and I tried to disobey her all I could, but sometimes, Henry ….” He’s panting, frantic now and his accent is clipping and becoming more and more apparent. “And I’ve come back from the dead and I don’t know why. People are going to start wondering how they can get their loved ones back and I just don’t _know_.”

                Henry gets up and makes him stop. “Graham, I think everyone understands and will understand. I don’t think they’ll hold it against you. She had your heart.” Henry pauses, not wanting to ask again if it was really his mom who killed him. He’s not quite sure he’s ready to hear the answer. He quirks a half-smile instead. “Besides, Emma trusts you. And they’ll trust Emma since she’s their Savior.”

                Graham drops a hand on his head and smiles even though his face seems sad. “I guess we really need your mom back, then, don’t we?”

                Henry smiles, feeling that part of it is forced. He hates sometimes that he can’t mention the other reason they need to get Emma back. He can’t have his sister being born in that other world.

                They finally walk into the library and find Belle quickly. “Hu-, Graham! Good to see you!” she cries, pulling her arms around the man.

                Henry beams. She is just as he pictured: richly dark hair, friendly ice-blue eyes, and a warm smile. Plus, her voice is cool to listen to; it makes him want to ask Graham about accents in their land. He wants to know this woman. She seems cheerful and sweet, and the book said that she was really intelligent and went on adventures and stuff.

                “Hi, I’m Henry. My mom’s his true love,” he introduces himself as he sticks out a hand.

                Belle’s eyes widen and then they scrunch in amusement. She takes his hand and turns to Graham. “’His true love.’ Holding out on me, mister!”

                Graham blushes, actually _blushes,_ as the statement. Henry can see it even under his beard. “We’re to talk to you about ‘Stiltskin. A trade in exchange for my things,” he clarifies, changing the subject completely.

                Henry reaches in his pocket and pulls out the pendant. It’s room temperature now, the stone a soft blue. “This is for you, too. He’s says it’s for protection.”

                Belle reaches out and carefully takes it in her hands like it’s something precious. “This is from our world,” she breathes. She turns it over in her hands. “It’s a protection gem. It’s enchanted to act like a personal shield, for lack of a better term.”

                Graham nods. “Glad to have it brought to you, then. There’s going to be a meeting at the Town Hall in a few minutes. Do you mind if we cut the convincing short? You and Gold seem to like each other. That’s nice. Make your own decision.”

                Belle laughs. “Yes, Graham, that will be fine.” She kneels next to him. “It was very nice to meet you, Henry.”

                Henry grins at her. “Thanks.”

                “Would you like to walk with us to the meeting?” Graham asks politely.

                Belle shakes her head. “No, there are still some people I’d like to avoid just now. I’ll come when it’s time,” she replies with a smile.

                Graham gives an empathetic smile and sighs. “To the Town Hall, I suppose,” he mutters and grabs Henry’s hand again.

                When they enter, the place is chaos. “Henry!” He turns to the cry, spotting Ruby making her way through the people. She gives Graham and him a side hug and thrusts her cellphone at him. “Try calling your grandfather. He’s not here yet and people are getting really anxious.”

                The devise is as bright red as the extensions in Ruby’s hair. He shrugs. He punches in the numbers quickly, but there is only ringing. “C’mon, gramps, pick up,” he mutters, feeling the anxiety in the air climb.

                “Just be calm people, I’m sure he’ll be here soon!” Ruby cries to the group. Her eyes are wide and anxious. He can tell she is worried about the crowd going crazy.

                Graham eyes Granny, whose crossbow is clutched at her side. “Are you sure you really need that?” he asks quietly, gesturing to the weapon.

                Granny’s smile is placating. “It’s a lawless town right now, Sheriff. Damn right I need it.”

                Ruby rolls her eyes at her grandmother then presses a hand to his back. “Keep trying, Henry.”

                A crash is heard as the door slams open and everyone turns in unison to the entrance. His mom grandly walks in, casually sauntering towards the group. Unconsciously, they begin huddling together and Graham’s hands are back on his shoulders.

                His mom’s eyes are cold, angry. “My, what a large turnout. No need to fuss. It’s just little old me,” she says, her chin rising and hands falling to her hips.

                “Regina,” Archie says, walking cautiously toward her. “Think about what you’re doing.”

                His mom sneers. “Bug,” she calls him, sweeping him to the side with a wave of her hand. Henry’s mouth drops open.

                “Hey!” Leroy yells, but the same is done to him. Granny’s had about enough and raises the crossbow and shoots it. Regina only catches it in her hand.

                “How sweet,” she says caustically as she studies the arrow. It flicks and suddenly there is a puff of green that lights to a ball of fire. Henry’s eyes widen as she hurls it to the crowd, barely missing Dr. Whale before it ricochets to hit the sign above her. She looks as evil as he’s ever seen her, all dressed in black with flames licking behind her head. Her tense eyes gleam in the light and a smile stretches across her face.

                “What does she want?” Ruby hisses as she backs away and that’s when it dawns on him.

                “Me,” he breathes. “She wants me.”

                “No.” Graham’s reply is quick, definitive. “She’s not taking you, Henry.”

                Regina is now near them and her eyes are narrowed on Graham. “Well, good afternoon, Huntsman.” She circles him like a shark. There are some light gasps in the crowd when they see Graham, but otherwise it is silent in anticipation. Henry shivers as Graham pulls him close with an unchanged expression. She tilts her head as she faces him again. “You just got your heart back. Do you wish to lose it again so soon?”

                “No!” Henry cries but Graham is steady, pushing him behind his back.

                “I don’t care, Regina. You _will_ have to go through me to get Henry.”

                Her eye twitches. “So brave. So sacrificing,” she murmurs and her hand meets his chest but doesn’t push through. Henry can feel him just barely shaking. “This is exactly why I tore it from you in the first place, Huntsman.” She steps back, her palm coloring red. “I didn’t come this far just so I could get nothing while Snow White gets her happy ending and her daughter has Henry, you, and your adorable –“

                “I’ll come with you!” Henry shouts. She turns to him in surprise, her hands losing the bright crimson color. She blinks as if remembering just now that he was listening.

                “Henry,” Graham says sharply, a warning.

                He ignores it. “Don’t hurt him! I’ll come with you! Just leave everyone alone!”

                Regina’s lips curl into a smile. “That’s a good boy.” With a flick of her wrist, Graham tumbles to the ground, frozen. She ignores Graham after that and scoops him up and it takes everything in him not to struggle.

                With another wave, they are back at the manor. He feels disoriented at the sudden change in scenery. It is suddenly as cold as the ceramic tiles beneath his feet and the stark white walls surrounding him. He tears free from her grip and runs up the stairs.

                “Henry ….”

                He slams the door shut and the boom reverberates throughout the house. Immediately, he finds his homemade rope of sheets in his closet, tying it to his bedframe to make an escape. He jumps out the window once it’s secured, but to his shock, the tree unfolds its branches and catches him, wrapping around to bring him back.

                “Don’t fight it, honey. You’ll get a splinter,” his mom calls soothingly as he is brought back in.

                He glares at her once he hits the ground. “So, I’m a prisoner?”

                She looks at him sympathetically. “Oh, Henry. I rescued you. I did that because I love you.”

                His eyes narrow. “So, I’m a prisoner because you love me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

                Regina sighs. “Henry, this is crazy ….”

                Henry’s blood is rushing through his ears. “No, you made me believe I was crazy this entire time! You made it so no one would believe me! I was right, but you sent me to Dr. Hopper and told me it was all made up! That wasn’t fair!”

                Something changes behind her eyes though the sympathy still covers it. “No, where I come from, that wasn’t fair. Of all the places I’ve traveled, this is the fairest of them all.”

                Henry feels the tears building behind his eyes and he sniffs loudly. “But you sent Emma and Mary Margaret there! You sent my _sister_ there!”

                She falters and sits beside him on the bed, her face screwing up. It seems that the mention of his sister is always what makes her pause. “I didn’t mean to, Henry. That was an accident.”

                Tears fall down his face actively. “But it doesn’t change anything. They’re lost.” Finally, he reaches into what she said at Town Hall, the question that has been plaguing him since he first saw Graham again. “And you killed Graham. You killed him, just because he was remembering!”

                Regina freezes. She looks away from him. “That was a long time ago, Henry.”

                Henry shakes his head in disbelief. “It was less than a year ago, mom! You didn’t know that he might come back! You were just jealous that Emma was his true love!”

                Her lips purse into a tight line, back ramrod straight and hands clenched into fists. “Henry, whatever Emma might have told you –“

                “Emma didn’t tell me _anything_! Graham’s curse broke with true love’s kiss! My mom got pregnant! They would have had a happy ending, been a family, and that made you mad! Then you killed him, _just_ like your mom killed Daniel …. How could you? I don’t understand how you could have done that!” He’s crying in earnest now. His mom killed him. She didn’t even try to deny it.

                She rises, brushing the hem of her dark dress down. Her face is deceptively impassive. “I don’t know what I can say,” she says slowly. She swallows. “Graham is alive now.”

                He swipes his eyes on his sleeve and hiccups. “You didn’t know that would happen.”

                She doesn’t say anything, so he knows it’s true. A tentative smile crosses her face. “Henry, I can teach you about magic now. I can teach you so you can have everything you want.”

                Henry glares at her. “No. I don’t want magic. I don’t want to be _you_. I just want my mom, grandma, and sister back!”

                Regina sighs and leaves the room without another word, heels clicking along the hardwood floor.

                He sits, crying quietly, for hours.

                Finally, Regina returns, her mouth in a thin line. She looks on edge, stiff and unnatural. “I know that I’ve made mistakes. I hope … I hope someday you will see the reasons I got to where I am.”

                Henry sniffles. “I know what happened. It doesn’t excuse _anything_.”

                Regina looks away. “Maybe … maybe if you go with David and Graham, then you’ll know.” He looks up at her incredulously. “It seems I’ve forgotten how to love. I’m sorry I lied to you. And that I made you feel like you were crazy. But I want you to be here because you want to be here. Not because I forced you, and not because of magic. I want to redeem myself.” She sighs and stands. “Go get your things.”

                “Really?” he asks, brushing away the last of his tears.

                She nods. “They’re downstairs.”

                Henry scoops up his backpack and shoves as much as he can into it. The rest seems to already to boxed.

                “Henry, I hope you can start trusting me after this. I am trying. And I will try to get your sister back.”

                Henry pauses, noting something. His mom would help, but only because of what his sister meant to him. He feels heavy at that knowledge, but at least it was something. “Thank you.” Then he bites his lip, remembering something. “Don’t tell people about my sister, okay? And don’t tell Graham. Maybe I’ll visit you more if you don’t tell Graham.”

                Her brows furrow but she reaches forward and brushes back his hair. “If that’s what you want, Henry, then that’s what you’ll get.”

                He can’t hug her. Though he is relieved and that is usually what he would do, he can’t bring himself to get close to her right now. Instead, he finds the will to smile at her. “Maybe I’ll be able to forgive you someday.”

 


	11. Killian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x05 and 2x06. Another new POV here.   
> Also, I made a deal with grahamsshoelace that if I made it to chapter 30 in my pre-writing, that I’d begin biweekly posts. So look out for Thursdays as well as Mondays from now on!

               Killian Jones is a known cutthroat, thief, and all around baddie. He had made that name for himself in the years he had been at sea and the near-to-sixty that he had sought a way to get his revenge. He went up against Peter Pan numerous times and came out unscathed. He is notorious, a legend, and always got what he wanted.

               Which is why it is so strange to be tied to a tree now by this lot of princesses.

               “I already told you, I’m just a blacksmith,” he cries, making sure his voice trembles with just the right amount of fear and betrayal.

               “Sure, you are.” The blonde reaches up and whistles loudly. “You want to talk to us? Maybe you’ll wanna talk to the ogres when they rip you limb from limb.” Hook’s eyes narrow. _Find the pretty pregnant princess and her party; they will be easy to fool_. Sure, Cora. Simple.

               A roar and a thunderous step makes its way through the trees. “Come on,” the blonde says with a smile, heading away from where he is lashed.

               The warrior steps to the side, giving him a once-over and raising her blade. “Are we sure this isn’t Cora herself? Another of her tricks?”

               The dark-haired pixie shakes her head. “No. Cora would have found a way out of this by now. Rope wouldn’t stop her.”

               “You can’t just leave me here like this!” he shouts, feeling part of his character breaking back into Hook.

               The auburn-haired princess cocks her head to the side. “What if he’s telling the truth?”

               “He’s not,” the blonde answers firmly, not even looking at him as she walks away. The girl watches him with big, apologetic eyes but follows her companions.

               He wants to spit, he’s so mad. This act has gotten him through gated doors, back rooms, armed guards, and many a lass’ skirt. “Good for you!” he shouts, all traces of the blacksmith gone. However, the sarcasm is less caustic than he’d hoped. He is impressed by the fact; he admires her in a way. Able to see through his act, through her pregnancy hormones. “You’ve bested me. I can count the amount of people who have done that on one hand.”

               The blonde steps forward cautiously. “Is that supposed to be funny?” she asks with a quirk of the eyebrow. Oh, he’s angered it. He’s forgotten that pregnant and hormonal can also mean temperamental. “Who are you?”

               He sighs. “Killian Jones.” He squints. “But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker.” She tilts her head as a way of saying “go on.” He bares his teeth. “Hook.”

               “Hook,” the pixie one breathes, her pale face growing whiter even as she shakes her head in a sort of angry disbelief. He deduces that this is Snow White. Proper name.

               “Search my satchel,” he dares the queen.

               The blonde’s eyes narrow. “As in _Captain_ Hook?”

               He smirks, glad the name still persists. “Ah, so, _you’ve_ heard of me.”

               The queen rummages through his satchel until she pulls out the gleaming piece of metal. She gasps sharply, and the sounds of the ogres pierce the sky.

               “You better hurry up, they’re getting closer. So unless you wanna be dinner, you better start talking,” Blondie asserts in a hushed voice.

               He heaves a wheezy chuckle. With a shake of his head, he concedes to the one who bested him. “Cora wanted me to gain your trust, so I could learn everything there is to know about your Storybrooke,” he says with a sneer, drawing out the words in derision. “She didn’t want any surprises when she got over there.”

               “She can’t get there, we destroyed the wardrobe,” Snow declares.

               “Ah, but the enchantment remains,” he says, his voice purring with pleasure. He feels better having told them something they believed to be impossible is indeed possible. He pulls forward and is abruptly stopped by the rope. His displeasure mounts again. “Cora gathered the ashes. She’s gonna use them to open up the portal,” he hisses.

               A crash sounds, closer this time. He wriggles in anticipation. “Now, if you’d _kindly_ cut me loose.”

               “No,” the warrior says. She turns, sword brandished as she makes her point. “We should leave him here to die, to pay for all the lives that he took.”

               “That was Cora, not me,” he clarifies angrily. He’s taken plenty of lives, but he shouldn’t be held accountable for these.

               The blonde princess steps back. “Let’s go.”

               “Wait,” he says evenly. At their retreating steps, his panic finally rises. “Wait!” he shouts. A growl sounds. “You need me alive.”

               The blonde turns back with a look of doubt. “Why?”

               “Because we both want the same thing. To get back to your land.”

               Her eyes are wide, trying hard to pull back emotion. “You will say anything to save yourself, why are we supposed to believe you now?”

               “I arranged for transport with Cora. But, seeing how resourceful _you_ are, I’ll offer you the same deal. I’ll help you, if you promise to take me along.” He is giving his word at that. He respects this woman, with her distended belly and gleaming eyes. She is a challenge, strong and smart.

               Whitey tightens her bow. “How are _you_ going to help us get home?”

               “The ashes will open a portal. To find your land, she needs more. There’s an enchanted compass. Cora seeks it.” He turns his head to meet Blondie’s eyes. “I’ll help _you_ obtain it before she does.”

               “So Cora won’t make it to Storybrooke and we’ll be one step closer to getting home,” Emma sums. She turns to look at Pixie. She shakes her head hard.

               “Sounds too good to be true,” the queen says softly.

               “Only one way to find out,” he sneers.

               The roars pick up. Blondie takes a dagger and juts it at his throat again. The metal is warm against his neck. “You tell me one thing. And whatever you say, I better believe it.” She swallows and narrows her eyes on him. “Why does Captain Hook want to go to Storybrooke?”

               He looks her over, feeling sweat bead on his temple at how close his ending chapter is. Finally, he responds. “To exact revenge on the man who took my hand. Rumplestiltskin.”

               With this, she nods and the warrior cuts him down. Immediately, they all run in the opposite direction of the ogres.

               Once they are several acres away, he finally turns to them with a breathless laugh. “Well, that was a bit of fun.”

               Blondie snarls. “Tie his hands, Mulan.”

               The warrior steps forward and begins lashing his arms together. A feat, he will admit, with his missing hand. He smirks at the warrior. She is rather pretty, even up close, and he relishes in watching the female in her work. “Mulan, eh? I should have met you at camp earlier. We could have had a bit of fun with these skills,” he preens. She jerks the rope to dig into his skin and he grunts. “There you go, love.”

               She says nothing in reply and only steps back to the rest of the group. They do not make a fearsome bunch, even with the various weapons dangling at their sides. A full-on princess in a bloody crown, a warrior with a pretty face, a baby-faced pixie dressed in pink, and a largely pregnant blonde.

               “So, am I able to keep calling you names based on your … more _promising_ physical attributes, or do I get to know the real ones?” He relishes in seeing them squirm at his innuendo. It is a tool he brandishes easily, one so simple to disarm a female whether they enjoy the notion or not. Either worked in his favor.

               Blondie snorts and points to the ground. “Just lead us in the right direction, Hook.”

               He jerks his head toward the west and they all begin that way. He observes their pairings, as they don’t seem too keen on talking to him. They fall effortlessly into groups of two, one princess to each; Snow and Blondie on one side, Mulan and Miss Royal on the other. He can tell who is used to the trek and who is not. It is really quite amusing. He picks up snatches of their conversations, but idly pretends that he doesn’t.

               “It’s getting dark. We’ll stop here for the night,” Snow states once the sun has dipped over the horizon. The rest nod, exhaustion cresting in at least two of the women.

               “Should I be lookout for this one?” Mulan asks, grabbing his tied arms and pulling him stumbling forward.

               Blondie shakes her head. “No, we all need rest if we’re going up against Cora. Tie him to the tree.”

               “What? Oh, for crying out loud,” he says as he is knocked back into the tree with a grunt. The wood digs into his spine, putting pressure awkwardly on his back.

               “Quiet,” Mulan hisses, throwing a rope around his waist and looping it several times over. His eyes take the opportunity to sweep over her lithe, powerful form. Not quite his type, but she’d have been fun to play with. He looks over to see the auburn-haired princess watching interestedly. She is also lovely with her fine bones and long lashes. A bit on the weaker side, but would still have been an entertaining game had it been a few decades earlier.

               “Emma, I still think we’ll need a lookout,” Snow says cautiously, pulling the pink sweater tighter across her chest.

               Emma. Interesting name.

               “No, Cora thinks she’s got us where she wants us. We’ll be safe,” Emma says confidently. She is a smart one, he thinks. Recklessly bold, perhaps, but smart.

               They basically forget him, building a fire and making a quick meal that the two skilled ones hunt. They eat in relative silence, each group eyeing the other while trying to hide it. He can tell they don’t quite trust each other and he wonders how he can use that to his advantage.

               Slowly, one by one, they settle to sleep away from the main fire pit. He is annoyed at the lack of attention, but he’s gone longer without food and conversation before and they’re not cruel women. They’ll feed him eventually, both literally and metaphorically.

               The sky has darkened to a deep purple, the full moon and crackling fire keeping the night from turning black. The air smells of burning wood and open spaces, the trees casting long shadows into their clearing. He looks up and uses the stars to determine where they are and how far they have left to go. He thinks he has a fair approximation after about ten minutes and adjusts against the trunk to see if he might be able to drift off.

               An hour after the breathing evens out, he is still utterly awake. From across the way, Blondie pops her head up with a sigh. She makes her way from her makeshift bed and approaches the fire to sit on a stone.

               “Couldn’t sleep, love?”

               His voice startles her and she looks up. Her eyes seem haunted, but then she blinks and it’s gone. “Not exactly the easiest place to.”

               “Aye,” he agrees, gesturing to the tree. She huffs and rises, the swell of her belly stretching her clothes tight. She approaches him.

               “I will have my eye on you, have no doubt,” she grinds out.

               He smiles at her, waiting for her to find the allusion in it. “I would despair if you didn’t,” he attests with grin.

               Her narrowed eyes meet his and then she uses her dagger to cut him loose. The ropes pool at his feet and he stretches languidly.

               “Ah, thanks, lass. It is appreciated.” She doesn’t even reply as she walks back to the fire. With a sigh, he joins her. She glares at him as he sits next to her.

               He looks her up and down. She is a tiny thing for being so pregnant. Her stomach is obvious but her frame makes it just so. He’s seen plenty of wenches with bellies twice that size and still many more months to go. She seems self-conscious over it, like she only now knows _how_ to show it. Perhaps that is why it is so much fun to mess with her. And simpler, to boot. “What to do with this alone time, I wonder?” he asks as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

               She jerks away, glowers, and rises. “Do you need food?” she grumbles out.

               Killian snickers, pleased to have trapped her with no comeback to be found. “I’ll have some of that leftover whatever-it-is you had.”

               She picks up the cold mystery meat from the rocks and hands it to him. He sinks his teeth into it ravenously. It is gamey and his jaw begins to ache from chewing, but it isn’t the worst thing he’s put in his mouth.

               He notices that she is still watching him closely, contempt written across her face. “You aren’t one to trust easy, are you, lass?” he sighs.

               “I’d think you’d be used to that,” she retorts. Her hand rests on her lower back and she straightens her legs in front of her.

               “Ah, the pirate thing, is it, love?” he chuckles around a mouthful of food. “Well, I don’t really need you to talk much. You’re a bit of an open book, as it were.”

               “Am I?” she asks skeptically with a raised brow. Her face is lovely in this dim light. Pale smooth skin, spirals of fire-lit hair, sea-colored eyes glinting with defiance and strength. He almost unconsciously begins to compare her with Milah in the latter. She is the first woman he’s met since her death that has been able to challenge him.

               “Quite.” He holds up a hand like he’s reading her. “You’re to be a mother, but you’re also trying to get home to someone. A child, your child. Desperate to get there, in fact.”

               “Doesn’t take much of a psychic to know that. You’ve got evidence right in front of your eyes for the first part and even the cleanest of watching could have let you know I am trying to get back to my son. Eavesdropping does not perception make,” she says cheekily.

               “Ah, but you don’t want him to be abandoned the way you were abandoned,” he asserts next, his eyes softening slightly.

               She stiffens and looks away. “Was I?”

               “Like I said, love, open book,” he grins, taking another bite. “I lived amongst the Lost Boys, you forget. They all had that same look about them.”

               She scoffs. “Yeah, well. No Neverland where I came from.”

               Killian perks up. His tales have reached this new world, how thrilling. And she has heard them! Why, this will be interesting once he gets there.

               She is hovering almost protectively over her belly now and he wonders if it is part of her defense mechanism. “Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?” He studies her, the empty ring hand, the brokenness. He cocks his head to the side. “Have you ever even _been_ in love?”

               She pauses. “No,” she replies automatically, tossing a stone into the flames.

_Ah, there’s the lies, lass_ , he thinks and wipes his mouth.

               “Who’s Milah?”

               He nearly chokes. He looks her over with narrowed eyes. “Who?”

               She gestures to his arm and he sees how the cloth has ridden up to reveal his tattoo. He yanks the sleeve down and shifts his weight. “Someone from long ago.”

               “Where is she?” she asks, leaning back against a log, her long tresses shifting down her back.

               He looks down, remembering her foggy green eyes, her thick dark curls, her warmth beside him. If he closes his eyes, he would see her in front of him with that grand smile that she saved for him. His eyes remain resolutely open. “She’s gone,” he replies simply, sharply.

               He can see her brain actively working behind those sea-colored eyes. “Gold. Or, Rumplestiltskin, whatever. He didn’t just take your hand, did he?” Her eyes are sad and pitying and he hates that she is now seeing him as weak. “ _That’s_ why you want to kill him.”

               His lip curls and he clicks his tongue. “For someone who’s never been in love, you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?” he pushes back. The ache is returning, the one that never quite heals.

               She shrugs and he can see the pain enveloping her like a cloak. Her eyelids kiss and part, inky soft lashes soaring above flightless eyes. There is hopelessness, devastation there, reflected as they remain as red and dry as a barren desert. “Maybe I was, once,” she whispers, smoothing her hand across her stomach.

_Good_ , he thinks. Her suffering will block any further signs of false sympathy. “Ah, the little one’s father, is it? He abandon you as well?” he bites out.

               She shakes her head, absently playing with a string looped several times on her wrist. “Not as simple as that.”

               He chuckles humorlessly, still feeling bitter that she brought up Milah. “Aye, sure. Some good reason to leave you both behind, I suppose?” he sneers out sarcastically.

               She winces, brings her knees up and her face twists with pain. He feels prideful that he’s hit the nail on the head, but then she speaks. “Death’s a pretty good reason,” she says softly with a lowered head.

               He looks at her, feeling every ounce of anger leave him. She is trying hard to curl herself into a fetal position though the fetus doesn’t allow for it.  She looks broken, shattered in the most familiar places. The heat drains from him, and he feels deflated. “Aye,” he responds gently. “I’d say so.”

               She swipes at her eye. “How did you lose her?” she asks, a desperate attempt to change the subject if he’s heard any.

               His mood darkens again temporarily, but he figures he owes her after being so callous. “She and ‘Stiltskin were married, but she chose me. He found her, years later, and tore her heart from her chest and crushed it to dust in front of my eyes.”

               There’s a quick inhale of breath that makes him turn to her. A sharp sobs escapes her, much to his surprise. Her eyes are even redder and a hand is pressed firmly to her lips. “Sorry,” she finally says. Then she drops her face into her hands and she sobs again, shoulder shaking furiously as she tries to hold it all back.

               This is not what he expected. Maybe he _did_ read her wrong. He really doesn’t know what to do with a blubbering woman. “Hey, lass, it was nearly sixty years ago –“

               “No, it’s not that,” she says, angrily wiping her face. Her hands return to hold her stomach. She stares at it for a moment as she regains her strength, caressing the area carefully and he can actually see the babe kick out in response. “Graham, he … the May— … the Queen had his heart,” she inhales deeply, trying to get a handle on the outpour of emotion. “When he left her, she …,” she trails off, unable to finish, tears dripping down her face in thin silvery trails in the firelight.

               Killian didn’t think his heart had the capability to wrench from anything but his own miseries. This kindred spirit … he didn’t know there were people like this out there. “I am sorry, Emma.”

               She looks up at her name and gives a broken smile. “I’m sorry, too, Killian.”

               He will help her. He has new reason to, now. He will get his revenge, sure, but that is inevitable. He will also get her back to the child she loves so she might have a bit of happiness like he will.

 


	12. David (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first routine Thursday post has arrived! I’m kind of excited and anxious about it. I hope I can keep up with my prewriting. This chapter contains dialogue and spoilers from 2x05. I am writing this chronologically in terms of episodes, but this takes place slightly before the events in FTL seen in chapter 10.
> 
> FYI: I had some readers be a little confused last chapter. Please, if anything is confusing or you have questions about something, do message me! I’m always around to talk (tumblr: arianakristine4)! I won’t give spoilers, but I may drop some hints.

 

               The night before had gone similarly to the previous night and the night before that. No one got much sleep. However, Graham and David would pass each other by during the night with simple nods, checking on Henry. The wolf alternates between following Graham and acting as Henry’s sentry. Neither man is completely sure that Regina will keep her word.

               He ended up petrifying them both out by sharply screaming in the middle of the night due to a nightmare he could barely remember.

               This is how Henry had weaseled his way into joining them at the Sheriff’s office.

               Henry is tired and David could tell by his entire posture to his droopy face. He leans up against Graham’s legs and absently plays on a laptop, having chosen against a chair. Graham is working through some paperwork in an effort to make connections between fairytale counterparts and the motives behind the crimes and continuously rubs his temples against a headache. David is doing the same with a different stack, mostly in Emma’s handwriting, and manning the phones which have been ringing off and on since that morning.

               The door opens with a clatter and Dr. Whale peeks his head in. “Sheriff.”

               David’s blood boils at the sight of him, but he controls it in front of his grandson. “ _Acting_ sheriff,” he reminds.

               Whale narrows his eyes on him. “I was speaking to the _actual_ sheriff.”

               David resists snarling but Graham simply stands. His expression is neutral as his hands fall to his side. “I believe the town elected a new sheriff in my absence. I am only helping out,” he states, arms moving to cross over his body. He looks more natural now, in his standard uniform of button-up, vest, and trousers. He looks like he never left, sans the badge that neither of them are willing to touch while Emma is missing.

               Whale shakes his head. He is out of his scrubs and in civilian clothing and David wants to smash his fist into his face. “Whatever. I need to know if it’s true that the other world exists. I’ve heard you’ve been looking for a portal,” he states.

               David and Graham share a look. David replies, “I’m not here to keep the truth from anyone. It’s true, we’ve been looking. Regina has told me herself that our world exists.”

               Whale seems to muse over that a moment. “Does this mean all the other worlds exist?”

               Graham frowns. David remembers mention of a couple other lands, though he has never seen one. Jefferson had obviously been transported from Wonderland. “It’s possible,” he finally replies, uncertain.

               Whale nods almost absently. Then, his eyes narrow and he turns to Graham again. “And exactly how is it possible that you are alive, sheriff? I had you on my slab. You were dead. I performed your autopsy myself.” His words are slightly more curious than accusatory but both emotions are there.

               Graham stiffens. Henry is staring from his place on the floor, staying quiet as to hear more of what is going on with wide eyes. “Henry, go into the office. We’ll get you in a minute,” David says softly. Henry looks stricken with guilt then scrambles his way in.

               “Well?” he asks once the boy is inside.

               He tries to focus on the fact that this man is a doctor who has been helping his subjects these almost twenty-nine years and even cared for him while he was in his coma. However, the fact that he slept with his wife is still in the forefront of his mind. “You have no right asking, Whale,” David spits, hands itching to bash his smug face in.

               Whale’s eyes light up with a certain madness. “I thought you were content not to have secrets from your people, King James.”

               Graham sighs and loosens his tie. “Why do you believe it is some great secret? I know I was dead. I have the scars to prove it.” He pulls the neck of his shirt down slightly and David can see the whitened mark of a line along the outside of his clavicle.

               Whale’s eyes follow the scar with a vague sort of awe. “I’ve never seen a Y-shaped incisional scar, Sheriff,” he says evenly. His eyes then center on David. “How was it done?”

               David’s jaw sets. “It happened after the curse broke,” he replies. He is careful not to say that he doesn’t know and careful not to give false hope. He hopes the ploy works.

               Whale exhales in frustration. “This man’s very existence goes against everything I know of science and magic!”

               David lets a smile stretch over his face. “Then you must not know very much about magic.”

               At that, the doctor angrily leaves, slamming the door behind him.

               Graham falls back into his seat with a sigh. “I’ll bet that won’t be the last we’ll hear of this,” he comments dryly.

               David looks at him. “Didn’t know you had scars from it, Graham.”

               Graham looks up in surprise. “Oh, I,” he pauses, looking at it. “I just noticed them yesterday morning. If nothing else, Victor has a steady hand.”

               David shudders slightly. It is unnerving to have these reminders that the man was dead and buried not too long ago. “I’ll get Henry.” He walks to the back and opens the office door and Henry darts out.

               “You have a scar? Can I see?” he asks excitedly. Graham’s eyes widen.

               “You could hear from in there?” he asks incredulously.

               Henry rolls his eyes. “I’m eleven, not stupid. I left the door open,” he replies.

               Graham sighs. “Because you didn’t understand why David sent you there in the first place?” he asks sardonically.

               Henry’s smile is sheepish. “Well ….”

               David shakes his head. “Really, Henry?”

               Henry looks away and then back to Graham. “Can I see it?” he asks again, softer this time.

               Graham huffs and pulls back his collar slightly.

               “Wow,” Henry murmurs as he stares at it curiously. His fingers reach out and then jerk back. “Sorry.”

               Graham shakes his head. “No problem. It doesn’t even really feel like anything. It’s barely raised,” he states, brushing his own fingers along the mark.

               Henry reaches out and pokes it with one finger and shudders comically. “You really were dead, weren’t you?”

               Graham quirks an eyebrow. “It wasn’t obvious before?”

               Henry gives a half-smile. “Well, seeing you in a coffin and going to the funeral and everything was one thing. Seeing you walking around with _that_ is kinda cool,” he pronounces.

               Graham chuckles. “Fine, then. Do you want to finish that game on your computer while we work?”

               The rest of the morning drifts by easily as they fall back into their previous duties. By the afternoon, they all look worse for the wear.

               “Break?” Henry asks, the computer long since pushed away out of boredom as he aimlessly spins in one of the chairs.

               David cracks his knuckles and rises to stretch out his back. Graham simply leans back and smiles. “You have an idea?”

               Henry smiles shyly and shoots a glance to the back of the room. “Darts?”

               David knows he shouldn’t be feeling left out, but part of him feels like this should have been his chance to bond with Henry. Instead, Henry gravitates more and more to Graham. It makes sense, objectively. The boy has known Graham his entire life; David woke from a coma less than a year ago and didn’t really understand their connection until a few days ago. Still, it is those feelings of inadequacy that makes him burst out, “how about going to the stables?”

               Graham and Henry both turn to him in surprise. “The stables?” Henry asks.

               David smiles. “Well, you’re technically royalty. You should learn about horses, shouldn’t you?” he asks tentatively.

               Graham nudges him. “The little prince should learn to become a knight,” he says with laughing eyes.

               Henry is absolutely beaming. “Yeah. Yeah! That sounds awesome, grandpa!”

               “Good,” David sighs in relief. He knows that they can’t be gone very long since the town still needs a great deal of assistance, but it will be a nice rest period.

               They all head off together, and to David’ joy Henry grabs his hand. It doesn’t hurt as much when he reaches back to grab Graham’s as well. The stables are within walking distance, but at Graham’s uncomfortable grimace when he sees the town bustling, David suggests they take the cruiser.

               Henry’s face when they reach the stables is absolutely worth it. His eyes are alight with awe, mouth fallen open in a ‘o’ of wonder, hands limply by his side as he sees the light colored beast whinny.

               “Is he a gallant enough steed, my grandson?” David asks teasingly.

               He shoots a look to him in shock. “He can be mine?” he asked.

               David smiles and he hears Graham chuckle underneath his breath. “Yes, Henry. Because every knight, every _hero_ needs his steed.”

               “Whoa,” he breathes, approaching the creature. A hand hesitantly rises and he strokes his side. The horse huffs, but otherwise remains still. David lets a smile stretch over his face because he knows that he will be excellent for a first-time rider. Henry turns to him. “Do I get to ride him, now?”

               David shakes his head. “Not today. You’ll have a lot to learn before you get in the saddle. I’ll teach you how to muck the stalls each morning and then you’ll do the same after school”

               Henry’s face screws up. “That’s like babysitting.”

               “Or horse-sitting,” Graham murmurs with a grin.

               David shoots him a look but only clucks his tongue. “I know it seems like just messy work, but really it helps you create a bond with your horse. An _essential_ bond. Then, by the time you ride, you’ll both be in tune with each other.”

               Henry’s hand lightly traces the items in the stable. Graham leans against a post. “You certainly know a lot for a royal,” Graham chuckles.

               Henry looks up from the brush he was studying. “He was a shepherd before he was a prince, Graham. He lived on a farm and worked with lots of animals. I’m going to need to show you the book later,” he says seriously.

               Graham’s eyebrows disappear beneath brown curls and he nods. “Maybe tonight, Henry. Unless we actually get some sleep.”

               They work together to muck the stalls, even if both Henry and Graham are amateurs at it. He’s not so sure about the others but the physical labor is working out every nerve that had begun quivering during their time in the office. It is tiring, but it is also fulfilling. His mind has the chance to wander for the first time in what feels like weeks, hopscotching from crucial events to the more mundane. He hopes their time away will give him an idea on how to rescue their three women.

               He keeps catching glimpses of Graham and idly wonders what his granddaughter will look like.

               After some time, Graham’s radio begins emitting static from his hip. “Oh, thank God, actual work,” he cries in a mock seriousness, brushing the sweat from his forehead. He picks up the device and holds it up. “This is the Sheriff’s office, how can I help?”

               Distant and crackling, they hear a voice. “There’s been an attack on Dr. Whale at the hospital. Send help.”

               “We’ll be there soon.” Graham meets his eyes. “Doesn’t sound good,” he states, chancing a look over at Henry.

               David sighs. “Henry, are you okay to finish up here?” he asks. He pops his head up from where he is sweeping.

               Graham shakes his head. “I don’t like this, David. We shouldn’t leave him alone. One of us should stay behind.”

               David chances a look back at Henry. “But if this is something more serious, we’re going to need back up.”

               Henry brushes back his hair with his forearm. “I’m not alone. Jaq’s out front. I promise I’ll go straight home after I’m done. Besides, isn’t this what you were trying to teach me, grandpa? How to be self-reliant?”

               David closes his eyes, knowing just how expertly his grandson is at twisting words. Is this an innate trait or something he learned from living with Regina all these years? “Fine,” he bites out. “Graham and I will handle this incident. Henry, listen to me: you will go straight home after you’re done. No stopping, no detours, _straight_ _home_.”

               Henry nods. “I promise!”

               Graham’s lips are pressed in a firm line and he knows the huntsman isn’t loving this. Finally, he reaches to his hip and pulls out his nightstick. “Just in case.”

               Henry takes it with glee. “I’ll take care of it, I swear!”

               They leave for the hospital and Graham is silent. His eyes flick from him to the road. “I’m sure it will be a quick assignment.”

               Graham looks up. “Sure. Or Regina could have let loose on Whale.” David has nothing to say for that.

               They enter the hospital, fully prepared for the worst. They feel like it’s about to come true when they see Regina in the waiting room. Graham tenses beside him. She looks up and scoffs when she sees them.

                “Storybrooke’s finest coming late to the party?” she sneers.

                David’s eyes narrow. “We heard there was an incident with Dr. Whale. Why am I not surprised to find you in the middle of it?”

                Her lips purse. “I did nothing. I came to speak with him about something he did and found him like that, with his arm ripped from his body. It’s the truth.”

                David shakes his head. “What did he do?”

                Regina presses her lips together and something flashes behind her dark eyes, something that looks akin to pain. “It’s someone I used to know. Someone from my past. I –, his name was Daniel. I believe Whale tried to raise him from the dead.”

                David lets a breath out in a whoosh. “Your boyfriend. The one you were supposed to marry. The one … Snow said it was her fault he died.”

                Her eyes raise and meet his with scorn. “Yes, it was,” she says coolly.

                “He _tried_ to raise him from the dead?” he asks next.

                She glances at Graham. “He practices something deeper than magic. After _he_ came back, he thought he’d be able to do it without complications. He stole one of my hearts to bring him back.”

                That hits something in Graham. “Which one?” he demands.

                Regina looks away and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I took so many … it’s hard to keep track of. I didn’t exactly keep labels on each one.”

                He can hear the snap of Graham’s teeth as his jaw tenses, feels the anger seeping off of him. “Where is he, Regina? He’s dangerous and he’ll need to be contained.”

                She shakes her head. “No. No, he’s not dangerous. Not to me.”

                Graham is tired of this and all but growls, “He’s a threat to anyone he meets. Tell us where he went, Regina, or we are throwing you in jail.”

                Her eye twitches. “He’d go where he remembers. Like David did. Like _you_ apparently did.”

                “Where?” David insists.

                Regina shrugs. “The stables.”

                Graham and David share a look of panic. “Henry’s at the stables,” Graham forces out and all three run out the door.

                David is the first into the stall and he jerks back when he sees a man with a blank stare, his hands wrapping around Henry’s throat. He makes a running tackle and brings them both down, Graham quickly sweeping in to pull Henry out of danger. Regina looks dumbfounded.

                She steps forward. “Daniel …,” she sighs. David recognizes the lovelorn look in her eye and it’s almost painful to see as they fill with overwhelmed tears. “You’re really here.”

                He yanks her away as the man lunges for her and slams the door shut. He begins banging on it mercilessly. “Regina, do you have some sort of spell? This won’t keep him out forever.”

                She shakes her head, her eyes wild. “No, I won’t use magic on him!” she cries.

                He grabs for his gun. “Regina, he almost killed Henry!”

                She shakes her head. “No! He wouldn’t have done it! He’s just confused! _Don’t you dare hurt him_!”

                “Regina, he’s a monster! He’s violent! If you won’t put him down, I will!”

                She slams him back with a wave of her hand. “No,” she snarls. “Let me try first. I can get through to him.” Despite the action, she doesn’t look like the Evil Queen at this moment. She looks like a sad little girl who has everything to lose. She spares him a glance. “Get Henry out of here. I’ll take care of him.”

                She turns, steeling herself. She looks back one more time. “Well, go.”

                Finally, he decides to take her advice. Graham and Henry are in the cruiser, engine running. He sighs in relief, thankful the other man has the sense to have a quick getaway ready. He gets in and jerks his head forward. “Let’s go. Regina has this one.”

                Graham grabs the clutch and puts it in drive, his body a hard line in leftover fear and anger. “We aren’t leaving him alone again,” is his short, flat statement.

                David glances back at Henry, noting the bruises forming on his neck and the paleness of his face. He looks numb. “Never again,” he echoes.

                “I lost the nightstick,” Henry says hollowly from the backseat.

                Graham glances in the rearview mirror and David can see how sad his eyes are. “Don’t worry about that, Henry. We didn’t lose you. That’s the important thing.”

                Not for the first time, David is thankful to have Graham by his side.

                The jealousy is worth it if they are both able to care for his grandson properly.

 

 


	13. Emma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you all so much, as always!! You support during these trying canon times is completely what I need! This chapter is a … sort of new POV. There are spoilers and some dialogue from 2x06 and 2x07.

               Emma looks up at the massive green thing sticking out the earth and has the urge to start laughing hysterically. All she can think of is something along the lines of “green giant” and a half-remembered episode of an old cartoon short. She rests her palms on her knees and rocks back on her heels, feeling the shift in gravity as she adjusts for her new center.

               “Tell me that’s not a beanstalk,” she finally blurts out, eyes studying the spiral of green and vine and thorns drifting up into a foreboding cloud of grey.

               Killian throws a mischievous look at her. “Ah, love, of course it is. And what we’re searching for is at the top.”

               “It reminds me of death,” Mulan says morbidly, hand automatically reaching for the hilt of her sword.

               “Encouraging,” Mary Margaret mutters sarcastically and shifts closer to her.

               “There’s the giant up top to deal with. The last of them,” Hook says as he circles the edge of the overgrown weed.

               “The one that hates all the realms and eats humans for breakfast, right?” she sighs with a troubled shake of her head.

               Mulan throws back her shoulders. “Majesties, I am up for the challenge. I will scale this with no issue,” she says dutifully.

               Aurora looks thoughtful, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist almost absently. “Are we all to climb it? I mean, we should, if we wish to remain safe,” she murmurs as she studies it.

               Hook shakes his head. “I think the pregnant woman would have a bit of an issue with it, as it were. Besides, I only have protection for two.” His eyebrows wriggle. “Which of you lovely lasses wishes to join me? Go on. Fight it out. Don’t be afraid to _really_ get into it.”

               “That’s enough, Hook. We’ll decide among ourselves,” Emma scoffs, hoping to knock his ego down a notch or two. She turns to the three others, feeling not for the first time that her belly is a major hindrance in this outing. Mary’s eyes are fixed on it as well.

               “You need to safe, Emma. We’ll need someone to guard you down here,” Mary says and Mulan nods quickly.

               Emma scowls. “Hey, have I not proven myself? I can deal with all this land’s got.”

               Mary looks impatient and pins her with a look that makes her feel about five years old. “Emma, you have only gotten a taste of this world’s dangers. You are only four weeks from your due date now. We need to stop arguing and get back to Henry and David.”

               Emma huffs, feeling her ire wane. She is, in fact, rolling closer to term as they wander through the forest and Henry has been alone with David. She watches something pass over Mary’s face, a sort of short sorrow that is mixed with an avid determination. She forgets, sometimes, that she is fighting to get back to something, too. “Okay,” she concedes, if for nothing more than to end the arguments.

               “With all due respect, I’m the best equipped to go. How many wars have you fought through?” Mulan asserts.

               Mary looks up coolly. “Enough.”

               Aurora swallows and steps forward with her chin raised. “It should be me.”

               All three stare at her blankly a moment. “No,” Emma pushes first.

               Mulan shakes her head. “You? You have never been in battle,” she cries dubiously. Though she has been loyal to Aurora, the warrior does have the tendency to act like the girl is more of a hindrance, a delicate flower, than a part of the team.

               Mary Margaret shakes her head. “This is about us getting home to our loved ones. Why would you –“

               Aurora’s lips tighten. “Don’t you see? I don’t have anyone waiting for me. If I fail, you all can go on.”

               Emma doesn’t think she’s fully respected the girl until now. As silly as the notion remains, it is noble and selfless. The tight line of her mouth raises a little in deference to her offer. “It’s appreciated, princess, but we’ll need someone with a little more oomph to go after a bloodthirsty giant.”

               Mary grabs the satchel from Mulan’s waist. “It’ll be me. I have the knowledge, the experience, and the drive to get this done.” She turns and meets Emma’s eye head-on. “We will get home to David and Henry. I promise you this, Emma. We will get home and be a family.”

               Emma feels that panicky thing climbing up her spine but she smiles stiffly. The baby shifts and turns, as if reaching for her technical-grandmother. Emma brings her hands down to her bump and smooths them on top. “Mary, be careful.”

               Mary smiles, tears glistening in her eyes. She presses her palms between her hands to rest on her stomach. “Take care of her, Emma. I never want you to know the loss I’ve felt.”

               Emma feels cold wash over her at the suggestion. It seems an out-of-place statement, unusually saturnine and pessimistic of Mary Margaret. She shivers, wishing away the words. “With everything in me.”

               Mary nods, lips pressing together and dimples forming as she grabs her head and smooths a kiss to her brow. “I know you’re not ready to hear it … but I love you, Emma.”

               Emma shakes her head, stepping away from the embrace as she finally realizes what she’s doing. “Don’t act like this is goodbye, Mary Margaret. Don’t you _dare_. Come back. I _will_ see you soon.”

               Mary chuckles softly and squeezes her shoulders. “Of course. See you soon, Emma.” She turns and drags Mulan over to talk, and Killian grins from his spot near the beanstalk, casually leaning against it.

               He approaches her since she is separated from the group. “There are many dangers in this land, love. Wouldn’t want the whelp to be exposed to them,” he murmurs. His good hand circles her wrist and she fights the urge to yank it back. The reaction should have come because he was a sketchy pirate with questionable alliances. Instead, it is because the hand placement and gentle action is familiar, and has only been done before by one other person. For a second, she sees him in Hook’s place and she shudders the vision off. He brings her hand to eye level and pulls a small pouch from his pocket and empties onto her palm. Her body shimmers and then the light glow fades.

               “The hell was that?” she asks, pulling back from the pirate.

               His gaze is steady on her and she feels unnerved by it. “For protection,” he offers. “It blocks others from sensing your magic. Your magic is a bloody fog light in this land.”

               She grimaces, rubbing her wrist against her leggings. “Thanks, I guess.”

               Mary approaches them with narrowed eyes and his grin becomes predatory. “I had hoped it would be you,” he purrs.

               Her eyebrow rises. “Why do I believe you would have said that to any of us?”

               Hook throws back his head and laughs. “Smart girl. Now, arm up here.” He places the cuff on Mary’s wrist, hands lingering on her skin and idly brushing across the limb. Mary looks furious to Hook’s open amusement. “Now, off we go, love, once my hand is returned to me.”

               Mary rummages through the satchel and pulls out the hook. “Don’t even think about using that against us, Hook.”

               “Why of course not!” he replies with guileless grin. “Up we go.”

               Emma watches them, eyes hard, until they are out of sight.

               Mulan’s mouth sets in a grimace and Emma finds herself wondering if the woman has every smiled in her life. “I am going to secure the area. Please, stay here so I may be aware of your whereabouts,” she says stiffly, heading towards the woods at the edges of the clearing.

               Emma turns cautiously to Aurora. “It’ll be all right,” she says, certainty lacking in the words.

               Aurora studies her, big eyes wide. Finally, she nods. “I have no doubt in the ruler of the Southern Castle.”

               Emma grimaces. “So, is there a ruler for each pole or something?”

               The girl’s face twists into bewilderment. “You do not know?” At the shake of her head, the girl smiles. “There are many rulers of these lands. The Southern, Northern, Eastern, and Western castles are large divisions. But there is also the ruler of the Grand Isles, of the Lesser Isles, of the Great Mountain, of the Desert Plains. I haven’t even touched upon the forest divisions!” Aurora exclaims.

               “Well, that makes sense then that you wouldn’t know her,” Emma muses.

               Aurora nods. “These lands are vast.”

               “So, your mother was the queen of … what?” she asks curiously.

               Aurora shakes her head with a laugh like a bell. It kind of kills her how princess-like the laugh is. “She was only a mere queen _here_. My father brought her from another land after it vanished, but she never quite fit in with the people here. She was never fully accepted, though my father loved her so. They say that is why Maleficent cursed her. She cursed me because it would cause her more pain.” She seems thoughtful, perhaps thinking about her kingdom. “Here, she was Queen of the Sands. There, she was the Empress of an entire world.”

               Emma is taken aback by the wistfulness on the princess’ features. She can tell that she misses her mother desperately. She swallows, wondering if she is taking Mary Margaret’s presence for granted. “Is she still here?” she ventures.

               Aurora shakes her head. “No, Mulan told me that she died during my sleeping curse. Died never knowing if I would wake. Away from the only other person who loved her, since my father is in your world.” She sniffs back tears. “From what I’ve heard since I’ve awakened, most of our monarchs are banished to that other world.” She hesitates. “Tell me about it?”

               Emma blinks at the sudden change in subject. “About my world?” she asks.

               Aurora nods, a smile gracing her youthful features. “I hear that there are no happy endings and yet it seems as though you have one to reach once you get there.”

               She laughs lightly. “My son is definitely my happy ending.” She sits on an overturned log and plays with a thread on her tank top, thinking about how best to explain it. “It’s just not so black-and-white, I guess. No magic to get us out of situations typically. Things that are good are mixed with the bad.”

               Aurora sits next to her. “Like with your true love?”

               Emma looks up sharply. “What?”

               Her smile is more of a wince. “I heard you talking with Hook last night. The father … he passed on?”

               Emma shudders at the thought. She thought all her memories had been put to bed the night before but she’s found that they resurface just as easily. She can still see his face and the flecks of brown in his blue eyes mixing with reverence and love, feel the scruff of his beard and the ropes of his muscles under her palms, feel the weight and softness of his kiss. “You heard us?”

               Aurora has the decency to look sheepish. “I did not mean to eavesdrop. I merely had a nightmare that kept me wakeful. You two were in such deep conversation that I didn’t wish to bother you.”

               Emma bites her lip. “Yes, he died. He died a long time ago, it feels like.”

               Aurora’s brow has creased in sympathy, or perhaps empathy. “It seems like years and years ago and yet also this very moment, all at the same time, doesn’t it?”

               She raises her eyes to meet the girl’s soft ones. She nearly forgot the reason that Mary Margaret had almost been killed. The childlike princess and she did have many things in common, after all. “Yes. Like eons ago and yesterday.”

               “Sharp clarity and fogged haze, both.”

               Emma sighs, brushing a hand over where her daughter lay. “Yeah, the real world is like that. He died so brutally _,_ so …,” she pauses, swallowing hard as she searches for the right word, _“senselessly_. And yet, I still have her.”

               Aurora brings her hands together, barely touching. “I wish … I wish I had something so tangible of my Phillip.”

               Emma shakes her head, eager to fix the mistake she is making in her reasoning. “It doesn’t replace him.” She bites her lip and huddles into herself as her daughter gently shifts inside her. “As much as I love her, as much as I would do _anything_ for her and am _so glad_ she’s mine … it doesn’t replace him.”

               Aurora frowns, auburn curls falling into her porcelain face. “Yes, I could see how that could be.”

               Her lips press together. She recognizes the heartache in this quintessential princess and that is perhaps why she is willing to share. “You really love him, don’t you?” Emma asks.

               Aurora nods, tears filling her gem-like eyes. “Yes. We’ve known each other since we were children. We were always close; our first kiss was when we were five years old. It was the kind of love that is so pure, rings true. We fought so hard to keep it and yet …,” she sighs. “This is all I have left,” she murmurs, holding her arm up, the one with a delicate silver bracelet. Emma automatically reaches for the lace tied around her wrist, feeling a kinship with the girl. Aurora shakes her head. “You know what it is like. You had your true love.”

               Emma falters a little again at the label. She has always been hesitant to put a name on what she and Graham had. True love just seems so definite, so quixotic and optimistic, so unlike her. “I was in love with him,” she finally offers, as truthfully as she can. What they had building in the months before and peaking in those last few moments was unquestionably love.

               A smile plays along the princess’ lips. “I am sure yours was a love of the ages,” she says, pausing and reaching out to lay a hand on Emma’s comfortingly. “Was he excited to know he was to become a daddy?” she asks.

               Emma feels a stone climb up from her stomach to settle in her throat. Oh, God, how would he have reacted to know she was pregnant? She has never tried to picture it before; sometimes she would wonder in her dreams but they were always forcibly shoved away from her conscious thoughts. It hurts so much that she cannot imagine how it would have been, to have brought that little stick to him and seen the meaning dawn on his features.

               “He never knew. I was all of five minutes pregnant when he died,” she bites out finally, closing her eyes against the sepulchral poeticism of his life extinguishing in favor of their daughter’s.

               Aurora gasps. “Oh, I am sorry.” She fumbles for a response. “I am sure he would have loved to have that knowledge, that your love created something more.”

_More_. Emma suddenly remembers something Gold said about her, about being the product of true love. She feels fear prickle within her for the first time, _palpable_ fear for her child. She’s abruptly thankful that Killian dropped that magical voodoo on her. Finally, she reacts to Aurora’s statement. “I think … I think he would have been happy.”

               She is no naïve little girl. She knows how harsh reality can be; one glance to her past can show at least seven instances without really trying. She’s never allowed herself to be a romantic. But she remembers the look on Graham’s face as he cradled hers, the tear that dripped down his cheek and the _love_ in his eyes. If she is this happy about her pregnancy now, she cannot truly imagine Graham being otherwise.

               Finally, she can picture a scenario, of hope and wonder in his gaze, cupping her face like he did that night, softly sealing their lips together as he murmurs how happy he is. The image fades almost as quickly as she makes it, the pain ripping back into her afresh.

               “At least you had your son to raise together,” Aurora cuts in, picking up on her distress.

               Emma grimaces. The poor girl keeps trying to backpedal but shoves herself further into this mess. “But Henry wasn’t his. Henry … I had him when I was younger, with a man I thought was good but ended up being a” _asshole, dickhead, prick_ “really awful person, actually.”

               Her eyes widen. “You gave birth to another man’s child?” she asks incredulously.

               Emma bites her lip, trying not to laugh at the look on the girl’s face. “In our world, it happens a lot. People have children all the time, with people they’re not in love with.”

               Aurora actually physically shudders at the thought. “My, this world is awful.”

               Emma turns and smiles so the woman won’t see her amusement at their worldview. “But if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have Henry. And Henry … he’s a really great kid.”

               Aurora gives a wobbly smile back. “Then, I suppose I am happy for that.”

               “Princesses,” Mulan calls as she walks back into the clearing. “I believe we should get some rest. There is no telling how long they will take in their pursuit.”

               Aurora nods and Emma gives a smile back. The stars are beginning to show overhead, evening upon them. She hopes Mary Margaret will be back before sunrise.

               She drifts off to sleep to the images Aurora unknowingly created. She is now plagued with things that can never be: Graham laying behind her with his head resting in the crook of her neck, fingers splayed over her belly, warm breath laughing into her ear in delight whenever their daughter moves beneath his palm. His lovely voice stringing together name ideas as he rests his head near the bump, eyes twinkling in delight. His lips caressing her middle, his beard prickling the sensitive skin pleasingly, before edging up to press a slow, firm kiss to her lips.

               And the worst and best, most painful image of all, of him with their daughter in his arms, rocking her to sleep with gentle awe crossing his features. That image remains, burning into her brain and clawing to the surface. She finds herself wishing it is real with a passion so intense that she surprises herself. She should really know better than to have her heart ache with wishes that cannot be made reality.

               She comes out of sleep in a daze, hearing screams of terror. She pops up, scanning the area until her gaze rests of Aurora, thrashing in her sleep. Mulan is running back to the clearing, sword drawn.

               Aurora suddenly bolts up, her eyes wild. “Hey, you okay?” Emma asks, cautiously making her way towards her.

               Aurora nods and looks up at Mulan and Emma, offering tiny smiles. “Nightmares, ever since I woke. This one … this one was different. There was a boy.” Then she’s looking at Emma with total clarity in her eyes, realization of what she’s seen. “He said he would help me. He said his name is Henry.”

               Emma gasps, backing away slightly. “Henry?” she asks, her voice cracking.

               Aurora nods, but they are interrupted when Mary Margaret shimmies down the beanstalk, falling sideways on the ground with a groan.

               “Mary!” she cries, running toward her.

               “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says, and then holds out a hand that is grasping a compass. “We have it. Let’s get going.”

               “Hook?” Aurora asks.

               Mary shakes her head. “We’ve got a head start. Ten hours before he’s free. I don’t trust him enough for any less.”

               Emma feels a sharp pang, worrying at the betrayal. Hook is a kindred spirit and that alone may have made him useful to their side. She shakes it off, knowing that if Mary thought it was the right thing to do, then it likely was. “We have new information. We have to hurry.”

 


	14. Graham (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s update contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x07 and 2x08. As a head’s up, the next few chapters will also be from 2x08.

               They have settled nicely into something vaguely resembling a routine. David and he take turns running the Sheriff’s Office. The other cares for Henry during the day. They go out for breakfast on the weekends and try to make other meals at home.

               He still gets strange looks from the customers at Granny’s and he tries his best to ignore them. It’s been an interesting transition as far as the townsfolk. Most ignored him as much as they possibly could while still staring when they thought he wasn’t looking.

               Things were becoming a little unnatural and stilted throughout the town, so they finally decided they needed to celebrate the end of the curse a little. Granny’s hosted an early dinner and get together for all that wished to participate. Graham was a little uneasy at the request, but chose to come when Henry had begun begging.

               Thanking God for small favors, at least Victor isn’t among the patronage. The looks the man gives him works on his nerves. He studies him as if he is a medical mystery he is dying to dissect.

               The atmosphere is much more relaxed after the first hour. The group is fed and a little buzzed, the chatter in the room alight with happiness and optimism. It is comfortable, for once, to talk with Archie and Granny, laughing as he nurses his beer.

               They start to leave at around seven since they’ve decided to not let Henry be around when the celebrations became more inebriated. As they are getting Henry from talking with Grace and Hansel, they notice that Ruby is on edge. They are collecting their things when she grabs his sleeve. “Graham,” she starts, her eyes a little wild. “Is it true, what Snow told me? About how you grew up?”

               Graham forces down the urge to cringe. He can see Henry looking up from under his arm. “That he grew up with wolves? It’s in my book, wanna see?” Henry exclaims.

               Ruby smiles tightly, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to contain her emotions. “Maybe some other time, Henry.”

               Graham sighs. The fact hadn’t exactly made him popular among humans before. He’s worried that this is what will make the townspeople break in their tolerance for him. “Yes, it’s true. Why do you ask, Ruby?”

               She looks away and when she meets his eyes again they are shining with unshed tears. “Were they actual wolves? Or were they something else?”

               Graham’s brow creases slightly in confusion. Something else? “No, they were real wolves. What’s the problem, Ruby?”

               Ruby sighs, her fingers tangling in her dark tresses. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it,” she says stiffly and walks out of the dining area toward the back rooms.

               Graham looks back at David with confusion. “She has the wolf gene. I think tonight’s a full moon,” he explains.

               Graham’s heard of such people before. The wolves he grew up with were from a completely different part of the forest than the hybrids from the Southern kingdom. For that reason, his pack would have never accepted one into their family, though they were aware they existed.

               “Do we need to worry?” he asks finally. He isn’t keen to follow the rumors that villagers stirred up, but he recalls a few tales of slaughter regarding their kind. Ruby doesn’t seem the type, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

               David shakes his head. “No. Ruby’s had a handle on her change since I’ve known her.”

               “Oh, really?” a voice calls from down the counter. They turn and see an older man, his mouth twisted with disdain. His hair is silver and thinning, but his eyes are sharp. “I’ve heard that the beast is quite dangerous.”

               Graham studies this new man. He thinks he may remember him from around town. But the voice is what is more familiar; he remembers it echoing around the Evil Queen’s throne room more than once. He is instantly on edge.

               “She is a person, George, and I will not stand for anyone that calls her differently,” David snarls back. “What are you doing here?”

               Henry ducks under his arm almost automatically, carefully eyeing the older man. Graham adjusts his stance to pull him close and slightly behind.

               George shakes his head. “Is this how you’re running my kingdom, shepherd? While my _real_ son turns in his grave? I should have found someone more suitable,” he retorts. Then his lips twist. “You may have taken care of me in the old world, but here we get another go at each other.”

               David’s fists clench and unclench. “Whenever you’re ready,” he replies coolly.

               Graham shifts closer to David in unspoken support. George’s eyes flick over him in a way that seems dismissively. Like if he were a threat, he’s not worried. “A big moment for you, isn’t it? So close to getting your family back.”

               David grins. “Must be a hard moment for _you_ , watching good win.”

               George’s eyes narrow. “I should have known that your choices would be weak. You let peasants, a dog, and an _insect_ on your war council. You let the animal roam the streets,” he rattles off. David’s breathing is very controlled beside him. Finally George throws up his hands in disgust “And now just look at your family! Look at how diluted you are making the bloodlines! You have a daughter with nobility running through her veins and you let her choose a wild mongrel who lives in the woods as a partner.”

               Graham stiffens at the insult, teeth clicking together. He decides not to speak up, feeling the tensions rise between the two men. His hand hovers at his hip but he doesn’t reach for the weapon there. To his surprise, it’s Henry that comes to his defense, “you’re just jealous because you’ve never known true love and everyone in this family is getting it!”

               George looks down at the boy with a sneer. “And so the bastard speaks up.”

               Graham sees red but his first reaction is to pull Henry out of sight.

               David is more active and lunges to grab the man by the collar. “You dare call my grandson by such a slur again, I will finish what I started at the end of the war. You are not half a man and you have no right speaking against any person in my family or my kingdom. You are not worth the words to insult you.”

               David nods to Graham and he quickly grabs their things and Henry’s hand.

               George’s eyes are full of fire. “Peasants! Peasants acting as royalty! These people will see you for who you really are. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you’d killed me when you had the chance,” he shouts as they leave the restaurant.

               David’s eyes are hard but glossy, turning to look at Graham and then Henry once they are outside. “Don’t listen to him, Henry. He’s a sad, angry old man with nothing left.”

               Henry nods. “I know. I’ve read the book, remember?”

               Graham hugs the boy to his side, looking down at him fondly. “We don’t give you nearly enough credit for all that you do and have to put up with, Henry,” he says softly.

               Henry grins. “Thanks.”

               They split up then, David going to Gold’s to get something to help Henry’s increasingly worrying nightmares. Graham heads for the apartment as Henry leans heavily on him. Along the way, his brother returns from the woods and trots alongside them protectively and Henry grabs onto the fur on the back of his neck. When they enter, the sky is grey, twilight upon them. The walkie talkie is still attached to his hip as he removes everything else. They’ve decided it’s the best way to keep the sheriff department going while Henry needs supervision. The hospital has always had one but now Granny’s, Archie, Leroy, and Blue all have a handset so they can cover most of the town. After the incidents with George and Ruby, he has a feeling he will need it soon.

               The front rooms are still untidy from leaving for the party, so Graham cajoles Henry into helping him straighten up. He still feels strange living in Mary Margaret’s apartment, so he tries to keep things meticulous when he can.

               David comes in as they are washing dishes and Graham turns to him expectantly. He pulls a chain out of his pocket. “It’s a charm. You wear it at night and then you control the dream. When you have control, it should no longer cause any fear.”

               Henry takes it gingerly into his hands. He studies it. “Whoa. I’ll be able to control my dreams?” he asks.

               David smiles. “You’ll be able to go when you want, as long as you want, or even stay away for as long as you want. It’ll keep you protected.”

               “Awesome,” Henry decides, pulling it over his head. “I’ll be able to sleep for real.”

               After the rest of the evening disappears, they settle to their separate rooms to sleep, hoping that this time it will be restful for all. His brother automatically saunters after Henry, resting on his bed comfortably. Graham smiles, thinking it interesting that the wolf knows who to protect.

               Graham wakes when the sky is still grey, foggy ideas of the dreams he had drifting away from him. He thinks he remembers a small weight cradled in his arms, feelings of peace and serenity. He shakes it off, trying to discern what had woken him.

               “It didn’t work, I think,” David says as he exits his room, pulling a hand through his short hair.

               Graham remembers. It was another cry, just the same as the ones these last couple weeks. He rubs his eyes. “We need to ask Gold for a refund. Want me to go?”

               David shakes his head. “Can you just grab a glass of water for him?”

               Graham nods and rises. He doesn’t get a lot of sleep, anyway. He feels like he needs it, but the knowledge of his death weights on him. He doesn’t like the idea that he might miss something while he is away. He also has a deep-seated fear that he won’t wake. He needs to be alive long enough to rescue Emma.

               They aren’t sure how or why he is alive. David and he spoke about it a couple times. They speculate on Emma and the curse breaking, but they never are able to pinpoint an actual reason. It’s because of this that Graham worries. He can tell Henry does, too. Sometimes the boy stares at him like he will disappear at any moment.

               “No, it worked, I swear! But there was a lady this time. She was scared and she was talking to me,” he hears Henry murmur into his grandfather’s chest. His brother is curled next to him, trying to give him the comfort he needs, head laying on top of Henry’s legs. He hands the glass of water.

               Graham searches over Henry’s pale, weak form. He has gotten the least rest of all of them, since when he sleeps he dreams and his soul is active. “Someone there? Are you sure?” he asks.

               David nods with a sigh. “Maybe it was just the dream expanding,” he murmurs into the boy’s hair. “We need to talk to Gold about this. We can’t have him having nightmares every single night.”

               Henry looks up. “I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice.

               Graham immediately shakes his head and he can see David do the same out of the corner of his eye. He grasps his shoulders and looks him in the eye. “This has not been, and never will be, your fault, Henry.”

               “Don’t ever believe that you are a burden,” David adds.

               Henry’s gaze is focused on the bed sheets, but he nods and takes the glass from the nightstand to gulp down some water.

               “What time is it?” Henry asks, rubbing his eyes from sleep.

               Graham glances at the clock. “You made it to five this time.”

               Henry sighs. “I tried to talk to her. I think she’s real, I swear.”

               David and Graham share a look. Finally David nods slowly. “It’s possible. Snow had the same dreams after her curse,” David mutters.

               Graham sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to try again?” he asks.

               Henry nods, his eyes bright and clear. “Maybe if I find out what she needs, it’ll all be okay.”

               It takes a while for Henry to drift back to sleep, but the two men watch him uneasily.

               “I don’t like this,” Graham states.

               David purses his lips. “For the record, I’m not crazy about it either.”

               They sit in tense silence for what seems like hours. Finally, Henry shoots up in bed, startling his brother into alertness with a sharp bark.

               “They’re alive! They’re alive!” He cries, his eyes filling with tears and a smile stretching across his face. Graham feels his body fill with relief even if he had always believed it.

               “I told you, kid! What did I tell you!” David cries happily, hugging the boy.

               He’s about to question it some more when the walkie talkie crackles from the nightstand. He grabs it, “Sheriff’s office.”

               “Graham? It’s Archie. We found an abandoned truck this morning double parked in front of the cannery. It’s a little suspicious and we were wondering if you could check it out?”

               Graham sighs, his lashes flicking on his cheeks. They were getting so close to a breakthrough. “Yes, that will be fine, Archie.”

               David is already pulling on his jacket. “I’ll get this one,” he says.

               Graham’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure? I can handle it.”

               David shakes his head. “I really need to take this one, Graham, but thanks. I’m this kingdom’s ruler and it’s about time I prove it.”

               Graham nods, finally understanding that George’s words had weighed heavily on the other man. He finds himself wishing that he had been able to experience living under David’s rule in their world.

               David shrugs on his jacket and gestures to the phone. “After that, I’ll be at the station. Any updates and I’ll call you. Don’t use the walkies for our communications unless it’s an emergency. I really don’t want the entire town know our business.”

               “That’s fine,” he answers. David leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

               “Henry,” Graham starts, turning back to the boy whose eyes are still filled with excitement. “How do you know they’re alive for sure?”

               “It’s the woman! She says her name is Aurora. She says mom and grandma have found a way to get home, but there’s someone in their way.”

               “Who?” Graham asks.

               Henry swallows. “Regina’s mom. In the book, she’s really, _really_ evil. She was the reason that mom turned super evil.”

               “Do they know how to get around this woman, Henry?” he asks.

               He shakes his head. “They’re not sure. She’s really powerful. They think Mr. Gold will know a way to deal with her.” He hesitates. “My mom might, too.”

               Graham studies him carefully. “Are you sure you want to ask her?”

               Henry is silent. He plays almost absently with his brother’s fur. Finally, he shrugs. “Don’t know. I’m really mad at her.”

               Graham’s really mad at her, too, but that’s beside the point. If Regina could help save Emma and Snow, it would be worth it. “We’ll see if Gold knows anything first, all right?”

               He nods. “Okay. Are we sure he will help?”

               Graham frowns and pulls a hand through his hair. “Let’s hope he will. If not, we have our backup plan, right?”

               Henry’s gaze meets the closet where the hat is currently hidden in. “Right.”

               “They’ll find the fairy dust. If they can’t come home on their own, we’ll go and get them. We’ll fight Regina’s mother and bring them home,” he insists.

               Henry finally smiles. “Okay. Yeah. If they can’t find us, we’ll find them.”

               “Apparently, that’s the family motto,” Graham murmurs as he rises. “Toast?”

               They eat a light meal and work on some things in the house for a time. Finally, Henry flops down on the couch, his face still pale with exhaustion.

               “So, when does school start again?” he asks. “Because all the kids are going to start aging again and I might get to actually learn something different each week.”

               “Well, they’re still expanding the summer break for now.” Graham chuckles. “You are not an ordinary kid, are you? Asking about returning to school when you’ve been through a sleeping curse and …,” how should he put it? “Some pretty big changes?” he asks.

               Henry shrugs. “I dunno. I guess … I guess it’d just be something normal.”

               Graham sits in the chair beside him and nods. “Normal would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

               Henry bobs his head in agreement. “I mean, I like being right about it all, I really like being a prince, helping fight evil and work against bad magic and all that. It’s just, some days I miss just reading or building a diorama or even doing a math problem.”

               Graham places a hand on top of his head fondly. “I can’t say that I want the same exact thing. But it would be nice to start somewhere small.” He grins, a plan forming. “You want to practice darts?”

               Henry lights up and he knows he chose the right thing. “Yeah!”

               They set up a dartboard in the dining room. Graham has thought ahead, bringing it in from the station after Henry had seemed so keen on it before the stable incident. For about an hour, he teaches Henry how to position his arm and body to hit the target. He suddenly remembers doing this before, from before the curse was lifted. At least now Regina can’t spoil their fun. Graham finds that Henry picks up on his teachings quickly, though his aim could still be improved. Every few throws, the boy will turn back to him and beg him to throw one of the darts without looking. He does so with a smile, keeping his eyes locked on Henry’s as he lets the red projectile cut through the air and land softly on the bull’s eye with a swish. Henry grins and will attempt the same, usually hitting the floor or the post but dissolving into giggles each time. Graham’s just happy that the shadows in his eyes are fading.

               After, Graham struggles his way through making lunch. He’d been able to do so during the curse with varied success, so it should’ve been simple. It’s just that in the forest it was all very standard: hunt, skin, cook, eat. Now, there are directions to follow, tablespoons and cups, burners set to medium-high, microwaves that spark with metal. Some days, the Huntsman’s memories outshine the Sheriff’s and he has to mentally push through the barriers to remember how to cook Mac and Cheese with a side of steamed vegetables. He grumbles and swears under his breath through most of the preparation, much to Henry’s amusement.

               “Were you always this bad at cooking?” Henry asks bluntly as he pulls out the pack of vegetables before they get overdone.

               Graham tries to frown at him but it comes out as a laugh instead. “Not always. I think doing something so close to archery pulled up that side, so now I’m trying to be modern again.”

               Henry leans his head to rest on his fists. “Is it always like that? Do you forget one of you sometimes?”

               Graham shakes his head. “I never forget. I’m always both personalities. It’s just sometimes with rote things like this, I trip up for a moment,” he replies, passing over a bowl of noodles.

               Henry cocks his head to the side, thinking about it. “That’s cool.” He pauses to eat a spoonful. “It’s edible. Thanks.”

               “Only edible? I’ll have to work on that,” he says with a grin. He hopes this afternoon counts as normal. For Graham, it’s been the most cheerful of times since he woke in the woods. Henry is a part of Emma, so he would love him anyway. But he also has his own personality, his own way of doing things, and his own way of expressing himself that Graham finds himself appreciating more and more.

               Henry pauses in eating, looking at Graham with an unreadable emotion. “You know, you’re really good at this. You cook mac and cheese but you don’t forget to make me eat my vegetables. You explain things to me and you don’t talk down to me like some people. You bring me water when I wake up at night and always protect me when we’re around the bad guys. You always try to make me feel better … and you don’t have to do that.” He pauses and gives a smile that is an echo of Emma’s. “You’ll make a great dad,” he ventures.

               Graham feels a heat rush to his face. He’s a little dumbstruck by the sudden compliment. “Thank you, Henry, but I don’t know about all that.”

               He nods firmly. “I do.”

               The phone rings sharply in interruption and Graham jogs over to answer it. “David?”

                “Graham. We are in the middle of a major crisis. Please keep Henry there and safe. The man that worked the tow truck, Billy, was found murdered. People think Red did it, but I know she didn’t. It looks too much like a frame job.”

                Graham sighs and closes his eyes shut. “This is a delicate situation, David. People are already willing to believe the worst.”

                He can hear David breathing on the line as he considers this. “I know,” he finally replies. “I found Red, but she doesn’t remember anything from last night. Just keep Henry safe and let me know if you hear anything.”

                “I will. And David? Keep an eye out. You still have a lot of enemies,” Graham warned.

                “Noted. I’ll call back in a couple hours, whether or not I’ve heard anything.”

                Henry’s looking at him with big eyes when the phone clicks back into place. “Mom’s not hurting people again, is she?” he asks worriedly.

                “No, Henry. It’s not her,” Graham answers comfortingly. Whenever Regina is mentioned, Graham has to force himself to speak diplomatically. There is a part of him that rages at her, demands justice for all the things she put him through over the years. But he understands that that woman is not the person Henry sees. He is determined that Henry won’t see her like that. The kid deserves a reprieve.

                The next few hours are tense. He has gotten Henry to watch a movie, but the air around them hangs in heavy anticipation. Graham can’t concentrate on the plot and finds that he stares into space more often than not. Henry passes out with his legs in his lap, the necklace protectively clutched in his small fingers.

                David comes home around nine. His eyes are bloodshot. Graham straightens and turns off the TV.

                “What happened?” Graham asks.

                To his surprise, David’s eyes fill with tears and he drops his face into his hands. Graham shifts Henry’s legs off him and rises uncomfortably.

                “Did she do it?” he finally voices.

                David shakes his head violently. “No. It was George. That bastard killed him in order to get the town running against me. But Graham …,” he trails off, not even bothering to remove the tears on his face.

                “What?” he asks softly.

                He turns dejected eyes on him. “The hat. He stole the hat.”

                Graham immediately looks toward Henry’s room, where Jefferson’s hat should be carefully hidden. “What? How?” he cried.

                David shook his head. “I don’t know! Somehow he was able to get it. He destroyed it, Graham! Our only way to Emma and Snow, and he _destroyed_ it!” he sobbed in increasingly panicked tones.

                Graham’s eyes shut painfully. They then pop open and dart to Henry. His mouth sets in a firm line. “Not our only way. Henry is a conduit. We need Gold’s help again, but we _will_ get them back.”

                David looks at him with cautious optimism. “What?”

                “His nightmares, the woman. She’s in contact with Emma and Snow and they can get home on their own as long as we can get them some advice,” he explains in a truncated style. Then his eyes narrow on him. “I don’t want you to ever get this worked up again. There will _always_ be a way. If we have to go through Regina, her mother, Gold, and half the bloody planet to get them back, we will. I don’t _ever_ want to see that look in your eyes again.”

                David looks away, guilt flooding his features as he notes the weakness of faith he displayed. “You’re right,” he chokes out. “It’s true love. There will always be a way.”

 


	15. Regina (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Okay, so still dealing with the fallout from last night (not the CS, the other thing). Recovering slowly and hope you all are, too! Today’s chapter contains dialogue and spoilers from 2x08.

 

                Regina paces inside her home, the pain enveloping her once more as she waits on the clock.

                It has only been a couple weeks since she’s had to use magic to kill her love once and for all, to dissolve Daniel into dust after he had begged for the mercy of death. Since he had lashed out at everyone he had come in contact with but looked at her with love and pain and misery.

                It wasn’t fair. Whale, Frankenstein, whatever he wishes to be called now, had tried to do what she could never have done, what somehow Emma Swan was able to do without even knowing, and failed. Daniel hadn’t been magically alive again, waiting to kiss her and whisk her off into a magical happy ending. He hadn’t been like Graham, himself again and ready to face the world. Daniel instead had been in agony, had been a monster because of it. Her heart broke all over again, in a way she hadn’t thought possible. She feels shattered, the cracks filling both with renewed anger and terrified retreat.

                The cricket has been unusually understanding in this matter. He was listening to her, helping her, guiding her on her path to stay away from magic. To get her Henry back.

                The timer dings and she pulls the cake from the oven, its chocolate aroma filling the expansive kitchen. She had taken to baking more in a blatant attempt at sublimation. Something about the precise measuring and heating reminds her of the old world, of brewing potions and brandishing magic. It was soothing set out mis en place or to roll out dough or see the thick tempered chocolate cloaking a pastry.

                She would then meticulously divide, package, and freeze the items in question. Henry will have a welcome homecoming.

                She is just placing the cake on the cooling rack when the door chimes. Her brow furrows since Dr. Hopper won’t be coming for a few hours yet, and she turns and walks down the foyer, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. Another perk of her inability to cope: her house has never been so spotless.

                She frowns deeply at the sight of the man with the cane once the door swings open. “You. I thought we had decided against seeing each other after you tried to kill me.”

                He grins. “Only after you locked up my Belle for over twenty-eight years,” he replies, the cane tapping as he enters the house. “But you see, there is reason for my stop today.”

                “There always is,” she replies bitterly, closing the door with a clang. “What possible reason could it be this time? Did I curse another of your housemaids?” she asks tartly.

                He chuckles, a far cry from his laughs in the old world. “Not something to do with what you’ve done this time, my dear. This time it is something you _can_ do.”

                Regina lets her posture straighten. Propriety has been hammered into her since the day she was born, by her parents of nobility. However, she is averse to bringing the man to the living room, since she does not wish him to stay. If they linger in the foyer, maybe he will get the hint. “Oh? You think I will do something for you?”

                “While it does benefit me, I doubt you would refuse my request,” he says, his words as always a puzzle.

                Regina lets herself scan through his words. “It would benefit Henry,” she deduces, feeling a certain dread well up within her.

                “Always knew you were a bright one, dearie. Now, are you willing to hear the problem?” A part of her feels this is a ploy to get her to be civil to him. She feels the concession come with great disdain.

                She gestures, bringing him to one of the cream leather seats in the living room. “What is this issue that concerns Henry?” she asks, glowering as she settles on the cushion.

                Rumple sits with flourish, spreading himself across the chair so that he dwarfs it. His dark eyes glint with challenge. “They’ve found a way to communicate with the Netherworld after your little trick on Henry.”

                Regina feels the blood drain from her face, the guilt rising up within her. The girl was supposed to eat that tart, not Henry, not _her son_. “He needs a way out?” she asks, thinking about different things she has laying around that she could charm to give him.

                The man shakes his head. “Not something so simple, I’m afraid. He’s already able to navigate his dreams, which led to him talking with someone from our other world.”

                Regina’s eyes snap up. “Snow White?”

                He shakes his head. “Another. One your friend cursed. But she is with the others, and they’ve hit a snag in getting home.”

                “A snag?” she asks flatly, an eyebrow rising. “You’ve come to me because Snow White might not be able to return? Woe is me. What ever will I do?”

                Instead of sneering, Rumplestiltskin actually smiles. “I think this is the one time that you will help Snow White.”

                “And why, pray tell, is that?”

                “Well, you’ve already told Henry you’d do anything in your power to help get his brand new sister home,” he says.

                Regina huffs. “I know what I promised.” She would protect the offspring of the criminal princess and her former pet if she had to. She breathes through her anger, reminding herself to be more diplomatic. She amends her thoughts to note that she will protect this new person that Henry loves.

                His lips finally fall into the slightest frown before quirking back up. “And this is also about preventing an enemy I know you want destroyed from crossing into this world.”

                Regina racks her brain, trying to think of an enemy she hates or fears so much as to actively help Snow White. “And who might that be?”

                His eyes turn cold in an instant. “Cora.”

                Her blood turns to ice, fear dripping into her like a melting icicle. “That’s impossible. I had her killed. I saw her body myself.” Her breath hitches. The pirate had handed her body to her on a silver platter, dammit! She was dead!

                “Apparently, I taught her well. She’s not, and she’s on her way. And I don’t think I need to remind you how most unpleasant that would be for both of us,” he hisses.

                Regina knows, all right. She thought she could put that monster behind her, that terror that killed her Daniel. All that she has been feeling the past weeks bubbles to the surface, the magic twitching within her. She no longer cares if she is abstinent from magic. She will keep her mother away from Henry, whatever the cost.

                “What do we need to do?”

                ‘Stiltskin rubs his palms together, leaning forward. “I have a plan to put into motion. Henry will tell them to find the ink that imprisoned me. However, it would be nice to gain some insight into Cora’s more intimate weaknesses.”

                Regina looks away. The thought of Henry going into a nightmare world she can’t even imagine is worrying. However, it would give the idiots an advantage if they have the knowledge. “I can help with that. Where should we convene?”

                He smirks slightly. “You are aware that Henry will be accompanied by two men that want your head, aren’t you? There will be no separating him from them,” he warns.

                She knows this is a trick, a test to see how far she is willing to go with this. The thought of working with them brings bitter and angry emotions to the surface. It used to just be with Charming: the idiot who was so foolishly head-over-heels in love with her sworn enemy. He was, and is, bad enough. Now, having to deal with a Graham with free will after he rose from the dead _for_ Snow White’s daughter … it’s almost too much to bear. “I will do whatever it takes,” she finally answers.

                His look is approving. “Let’s get on with it, then, shall we?”

                He rises and doesn’t look to see if she’s following. She does, of course, and perhaps it is that which infuriates her most. She is still at the whim of Rumplestiltskin, at his heels in desperation, whether she wants to be or not.

                They are on semi-neutral ground, she realizes, as they enter Gold’s shop. When they walk to the back, Henry’s arm is being held gingerly by Graham as the two men inspect it.

                “Problems, dearie?”

                Three sets of eyes meet her and her posture straightens automatically. She is the queen and she will not be intimidated. Anger is carefully hidden behind neutrality in one blue-brown gaze, outright hatred in the prince’s, but what breaks her heart is the fear in Henry’s.

                “Henry, are you okay?” she asks softly.

                He looks over to the two other men and then finally nods. “I think I might have been in there too long.”

                “He wasn’t able to get the message in, ‘Stiltskin,” David says.

                Graham sighs and wraps Henry’s arm with a bandage. “He has burns. I thought you said he’d be able to control the dreams with the pendant?” he accuses.

                “Burns?” Regina questions coming forward and brushing back Henry’s hair. He flinches and her heart cracks. “You will not let my son go back in there if he is in any danger,” she finally insists.

                Expecting protests, she is surprised to see Graham nod. “I agree,” he says softly, finishing the last twist of the bandage.

                David sighs. “There has got to be another way.”

                Rumplestiltskin shakes his head and walks over to Henry’s side. “No need to tend to wounds,” he says, waving his hand over his arm. The dressing falls to the side and the burn has disappeared.

                “That’s pretty cool,” Henry pronounces. “Aurora was there, but she left so suddenly.”

                “What caused this?” Regina grits out. She brushes away mention of the Sands princess. Maleficent will be furious when she hears that she is awake but that is a problem for another day.

                “When you venture deeper into the Netherworld instead of away, there are risks. Someone must’ve woke Aurora before her soul was ready to return. The violence of that act tore her away and injured Henry. We’re lucky it wasn’t worse. He’s going to need some time to recover before he can be sent back.”

                “If you can heal me that easy, I should go back now,” he muses.

                “No,” comes the sharp retort of four adults at once.

                “Out of the question. We are not sending my son back ever again,” Regina continues.

                David nods in agreement. “Not a chance in Hell. We’d be monsters if we let him go back into that world.”

                “Careful with your tone, Charming. I understand your concern for the boy, but I know Cora. Without our help, Snow and Emma will soon be dead. And then … a true monster will be on her way to Storybrooke,” Rumplestiltskin replies.

                “It would be risking your life and we can’t do that, no matter the cost,” Graham says, ignoring the imp and directing the statement to Henry himself.

                Henry’s eyes are wide and tearful. “We have to get them, Graham. We can’t leave them alone in that world.”

                Graham smiles, grabbing his hand. “We will find another way, Henry. We will get them back,” he replies and levels his gaze on Rumplestiltskin in unspoken challenge.

                Regina will admit, Graham is better with her son than she would have imagined. However, instead of soothing her, it stirs up worry, anger, and jealousy. He is _her_ son. She has fought for so long to make it so. She is not willing to lose it so easily.

                “Aurora is gone. We don’t have a way to communicate any longer. We can’t get a message to them,” she spits out.

                David shakes his head, a smile crossing his face. “No, there will be someone there!”

                ‘Stiltskin’s gaze is knowing. “Snow White, I presume?”

                “Well, that’s an awfully big presumption,” she retorts.

                He shakes his head, meeting eyes with Graham. “No, it’s not. She’s been there before, she’ll find a way to get there again. She will, I know it. And I will be there waiting for her,” David says, a sickening light filling his eyes. Graham stands, hands falling to his hips.

                Regina scoffs. “You? How are you going to be there?”

                “Tell me you’re not thinking of what I think you are, David,” Graham murmurs.

                David grins. “I am. I’m going to need a sleeping curse.”

                “ _You’re_ going to this netherworld?” she scoffs in disdain.

                His smile turns smug. “I’ve faced you; how bad could it be?”

                “Grandpa …,” Henry sighs, sitting up in bed.

                “If we do, there is a chance you might never wake up,” Rumplestiltskin advises.

                Graham walks up to him. “If anyone should go, it should be me. You need to be able to help them if I don’t wake up.”

                He shakes his head violently. “Snow will wake me,” he claims impassionedly. “We’ll meet there, we’ll kiss, and everything will be fine.” He turns, looking as stupidly brave as she’s ever seen him. “Now, put me under. I’ve spent too much time searching for my wife as it is. It’s time to bring them home.”

                Stupid is right. But Regina will let it happen, a plan forming so organically it is almost pitiful she didn’t think of it before. If he is gone, then she only has to get rid of Graham before Henry falls back into her arms.

                “I can brew the potion,” Regina declares, a smile dancing on her features that she can’t begin to hide.

                Graham’s look is distrustful, but David nods. “That’s fine. You have some experience in it,” he decides.

                “Mom,” Henry says seriously, and she snaps her head up to look at him. He looks wary but also sure of himself. “Don’t go overboard.”

                She feels something uncoil within her and she nods. “I’ll use Maleficent’s curse,” she decides, knowing it would be less severe than the apple one that almost took Henry’s life. She won’t kill David, not this time.

                “I have the supplies,” Rumplestiltskin offers, gesturing towards the front of the shop. She takes the wordless suggestion and goes, walking behind the counter purposefully.

                This is where she excels. Potion-making. Her cooking might be top-notch, but her potions are even better. A silent thrill leaps within her as the chemicals combine.

                “It smells,” Henry pronounces as he walks into the room.

                Regina’s eyes flicker up and take in his appearance. He is pale, exhausted. Have those men been taking care of him in the slightest? “It’s a curse, honey, it’s supposed to. It’s not meant to be pleasant,” she replies soothingly.

                “So,” he draws out. “Is it finished?”

                She stares as it changes colors, as it pools into a viscous liquid. “Yes. We’re almost ready.”

                She can feel his stare as she moves around the shop, feel the questions rolling in his mind. “This is how you do magic?” he asks finally.

                She pauses. “There are many ways. It is never easy.”

                He wrings his hands. “And … and have you been using magic?”

                “Oh,” she breathes, kneeling beside him, finally understanding his worries. “No, Henry. I told you I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. Just with Daniel … and now. I really have been trying for you.” It is so easy to weave these words. They are true, hiding the malice she feels as the potion coagulates into the demise of a King and the solution to a problem.

                He bobs his head. “Okay. At least you’re using it to help people now,” he says.

                She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying,” she repeats. “I won’t after this.” A boldfaced lie, but Henry doesn’t need to know this. Once he is hers, she _will_ stop for good.

                “I know,” he responds. “Will my grandpa be okay?”

                Her stomach sours as the term of relation rolls off his tongue. She stands. “He’ll be asleep,” she says slowly, truthfully. “He won’t die in there. Gold’s explaining everything to him now.”

                He looks dejected. “It should be me. I can go in there without another curse and still come back. I was supposed to be a hero.”

                Regina shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. Her son should not be feeling this way. He is _her_ hero, her son to love and cherish in a happy ending of her own making. “Henry, there’s a lot of things that David, Graham, and I disagree on. This is not one of them. We won’t let you risk your life. It’s not worth it.”

                “My sister is worth it,” he replies sullenly. A flash of anger coats her but she brushes it off.

                “And she will come back when your grandfather tells your grandmother exactly what we have to tell them. Because there is one thing I know about your grandparents; they always find each other,” she replies. She is not sure how she is able to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but somehow her love for Henry prevails. This is one promise she is okay with breaking.

                He smiles a tiny smile, but it is enough for her. “I can’t wait to see them, so we could be a family,” he says softly.

                She doesn’t let a frown betray what the statement does to her. He is _her_ family. Would that change if Emma and Snow and the child came? She feels resolve set. She can remedy this. She will just have to play it right. “Now, let’s get going, shall we? I need a spinning wheel.”

 


	16. Snow (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Happy Halloween!! Once again, this chapter contains spoilers and dialogue from 2x08.

                Snow sits with her head in her hands, willing away the fears of returning to the netherworld as Mulan searches for the poppy. Her head burns and she wishes the tears would come to wash away the feelings of inadequacy. She is a Queen and she has numerous people counting on her, including her family. She had gone up against certain death and come back twice as strong. The burning room, though, isn’t something she had conquered. It is something she had avoided, run from. Perhaps that’s why her nerves are winding through her body to collect in her throat and behind her eyes.

                She hears a sharp sniff and rises hastily. She darts through the bushes and finds Emma, her eyes bright, next to one of the zombies that she had managed to kill. She recalls the sight of her pregnant daughter protectively swinging the sword and connecting hard with the corpse, moving on to the next threat before the body even dropped to the ground. If there is one thing Emma is not, it is weak.

                “Emma?” she asks, puzzlement coloring her words.

Her head snaps up and she meets her gaze. “Oh, Mary Margaret. Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.” She pauses and looks away, her brow furrowing as she tries to hold back her emotions. They change slightly and she looks at her. “I’m sorry about you having to go back.”

                Snow shakes her head almost violently, even though she feels the tears rush forward again. “It’s fine. I’m prepared for it. After this, we’ll be able to make it back and everything will be okay,” she says hollowly. Her confidence is shaken and has been even since she took the trip up the beanstalk with Hook. What a disaster.

                He had done nothing to make himself untrustworthy. Not really. He had a reputation to be sure, one she was acutely aware of as they climbed, but he had never come forward with violence at any time. But there was something about him that made Snow uneasy. He was able to rip through her comfortable, though admittedly flimsy, veneer and stripped her down to her barest insecurities. He did so with pride and ego, delighting whenever she tried to hide further. He called to her most vulnerable areas, her greatest fears, with razor precision and most of them concerning Emma. His comments on Emma stirred her blood, his stabs towards their shaky relationship, his acerbic remarks on knowing her better even without knowing her half as long. There were many reasons she chained him in that place, but not the least of which was how nervous he made Emma look before they went up that beanstalk.

                She is determined to get her confidence back before they return. She shakes her head. “That’s not what you’re upset about,” she states.

                Emma is silent. She looks down at the body again.

                Snow hesitantly sits beside her and reaches for her hand. “He wasn’t alive any longer, Emma. It was just an extension of Cora.”

                Emma’s face twists into a mask of pain and she looks away again. “It wasn’t his fault. He was under her influence. He didn’t want to attack us, didn’t really want to take Aurora or the compass away. He was being controlled.”

                Snow nods. “That’s true,” she says, leaving her voice light to invite the end of Emma’s trail of thought.

                There’s a hitch in her breath and her eyes dart around, unwilling to focus on any one thing. “He was able to be controlled because Cora took his heart.”

                Snow swallows in understanding, feeling a rush of sympathy swell within her. “Oh, Emma,” she says, tightening her grip on her hand.

                Emma shakes her head. “It’s stupid. He was going to kill us, I know that,” she says in frustration, wiping the tears under her eyes.

                Snow hesitates knowing that she needs to cut into the root of the issue instead of dancing around it like Emma is. She presses her lips together. “I don’t think it was the same. I think Cora’s magic works a little differently.”

                Emma grabs a rock and hurls it toward the woods. “How could you know?”

                Snow’s eyebrows rise as she considers it. “Well,” she begins, gesturing to the body. It is bloody and scarred, rigid, bloated, and pale. Long since dead. “That man was quite obviously dead before and after he reanimated,” she says logically. Then her hand moves to rest on top of Emma’s belly as proof. “… _he_ was definitely alive.”

                She can hear Emma swallow, fingers twisting against the brown lace that seems to always be attached to her wrist. “But could she have done that to him? Controlled him?”

                Snow winces, nails biting the inside of her palms. She remembers when she had privately asked Blue, before the curse and the pregnancy but after the retaking of the kingdom, about saving the Huntsman. She had vetoed the decision, basing her choice on the fact that no one knew where the Evil Queen kept her chamber of hearts. Without his heart, she would still be under her command. She remembers Blue’s eyes burning as she said it, the memory of a demolished village fresh in her mind. “Yes,” she finally answers. “He fought it as often as he could in our world. But yes. She could control him.”

                Emma gags and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. She tips forward and stumbles away, the contents of her stomach emptying along the tree line.

                Snow rushes forward, petting back her soft hair. She hushes her, whispering nonsense words and rubbing circles on her lower back as she heaves again. She can feel all of Emma’s muscles tense as her body violently reacts to the new knowledge. “It’ll be okay, let it out, it’ll be okay,” she murmurs.

                When Emma finally leans back, she grabs the water skin from her belt and offers it to her. Emma takes a few slow sips and Snow can see the tear tracks weaving through the dirt on her face in intricate patterns.

                “I didn’t believe him,” she whispers, resting her head against Snow’s chest. “He tried to tell me and I didn’t believe him.”

                Snow begins to gently rock her back and forth, knowing that no words would help in this situation.

                “I thought he was crazy. And then he _remembered_. He _told_ me he remembered and he thanked me and I _still_ never believed him and everyone keeps saying we were true love but how can that be when I didn’t have enough faith in him?” she sobs, the words flowing fast and furious.

                “Emma,” she says softly, brushing her hands across her face when she didn’t listen. “Emma,” she repeats, a little more firmly. “ _No one_ would have thought he was telling the truth. Everyone was telling him to sleep it off and to go home alone, but you, Emma, you actually listened to him. You tried to _help_ him. You _did_ help him.”

                “Not enough,” she asserts dejectedly.

                Snow frowns and pulls her back down into a hug. “He was finally out of Regina’s power. You broke his curse. And Emma, you _know_ the only kind of power that can do that. He left knowing about both his lives. He left knowing that you loved each other.”

                “I got pregnant that night,” she whispers, her head buried into her chest so deep that she barely hears the words escape.

                Snow’s heart twists. She had assumed so, based on the timelines and the way Emma had looked when she came home that night. Still, it’s strange to hear her say it, to know absolutely that her grandchild was conceived moments before her father’s death. She presses a firm kiss to the top of her head, hoping to express all the sympathy, sadness, love, and regret into it. “She was meant to be,” she finally says.

                Emma chokes out a sob, hands wrapping tighter around her. Snow wonders, for a second, if she is seeking comfort from the friend or the mother. Snow is giving back both.

                “I feel like I’m forgetting him,” she grinds out, her body shaking with emotion. “I can’t remember the exact shade of his hair, I can’t remember the specific way his accent curled over his words, I can’t remember how he stood,” she says mournfully.

                Snow bites her lip, intimately knowing the feeling. When she had let David go for the first time, she remembers the aching slowness of forgetting the details of a person. And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the memories, the more they faded until you were left with impressions and feelings more than anything else. “When we get back, we’ll find every last picture we can find of him. We’ll find the tapes on answering machines, any video left over. We’ll track down everyone who has memories of him and get their stories. We’ll wake up your memories as best we can. We’ll make sure she will know what her father was like.”

                Emma smiles in a way that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Another tear escapes and falls down her cheek.

                Snow decides to steer the conversation away, just a bit. “You know, Mary Margaret was one of _those_ women.”

                Emma looks up in surprise, her tears slowing. “Huh?”

                Snow smiles. “You know, the kind that dreams up weddings and baby names and pins their futures on internet boards. One of _those_ women.”

                Emma’s gaze is steady but confused. “Okay,” she drawls.

                Snow brushes back a strand of Emma’s hair. It is straightening out, making her wonder if she actually has all of Charming’s hair instead of the meld between both as she first assumed. “Of course, it must’ve been slightly because part of me knew that I had had a grand, fancy wedding to David and that I had _you_ somewhere out there. I had researched all sorts of baby names and Emma was always at the top of every list.”

                Emma grimaces slightly; it seems she realizes where she’s going with this. “I haven’t exactly thought about that,” she murmurs, cradling her belly in her arms.

                Snow shakes her head. She hadn’t been trying to make her feel like she was doing something wrong. “Naturally! I assumed you haven’t. I mean, you’ve had a few other things on your mind. Names certainly wouldn’t be at the top of my list.” She chuckles slightly and shrugs. “But I already had a list going and added a couple when I knew you were pregnant. I mean, you _are_ getting closer to the time where you’ll need to decide.”

                Emma shrugs a shoulder. “You’re right. Got that list around anywhere?” she replies sourly.

                If only Emma knew how giddy Snow is and Mary Margaret was about this little one. “You know, you wonder what qualities you want in your child. Emma means ‘universal’ and I thought that was such a wonderful idea for royalty. A sovereign that is one with the people, who would rule with them rather than against them.”

                She sees Emma freeze, the reminder of her title causing her to throw up a couple walls again. Snow knows she needs to fix it somehow.

                She hesitates, wondering if it is actually her place even if she is Emma’s mother. Finally, she decides to bite the bullet.  “And I think … well, whenever I think of you two I think ‘noble.’ I think ‘strong.’” She smiles and presses a hand to her belly and she gives a delighted grin when her granddaughter pushes out in acknowledgement. “Brianna.”

                Emma looks thoughtful. “Brianna?”

                Snow’s quick to amend her statement. “I mean, I don’t presume to name your child or anything. And, there’s always Sophie … that means ‘wisdom,’ or even Aimee, ‘loved,’” she pauses, feeling like she’s rambling.

                The side of Emma’s lip is quirking up, her eyes hazy. “Brianna.”

                Snow smiles timidly. “It’s also of Irish origin. I know he wasn’t, not really, but maybe ….”

                Emma gives a laugh that shifts slightly into a sob. “It’s perfect.” She curls into her again, a hug that is more in appreciation but for many reasons. “Thank you, mom.”

                Snow feels her throat close up, the endearment shocking and warming her soul. She knows she needs to be careful here. Emma is not one to do anything half-heartedly but also not one for throwing out every emotion all at once. She remembers how often she ran, even if it were only for a few hours, during times of emotional stress and knows she needs to tread lightly. “Well, I suppose getting some say is only fair. After all, I did have to find out that you were pregnant from the Mad Hatter,” she jokes.

                She groans. “God, I almost forgot about Jefferson,” she says, her head shaking. When her eyes return, she looks apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

                “It’s perfectly fine,” she replies happily. Regarding Jefferson, she’s madder at herself for not realizing her _roommate_ who she saw every day had gone nearly six months without her knowing a thing. _Maybe more with the child_ , Jefferson had said, brushing an intrusive hand to let the flowy top frame her blossoming shape, and it was only then that she was able to see the way her belly swelled. Emma certainly had some skill at keeping inconspicuous. “I know now and I will do everything I can for our Brianna.”

                Emma sighs. “It feels more real somehow.”

                “Now that she has a name?” Snow asks.

                Emma nods. She looks away again, to the horizon this time. “With Henry, I didn’t get to do all that.”

                Snow grimaces. “I know. You did the best you could.”

                Emma nods sharply, but looks more unsure. “In the women’s prison, it was easier to hide the bump. I mean, I was pretty small for the most part but the clothing was baggy,” she starts. Snow could see that. Her frame is just so that she was able to hide it with some strategic pieces until she was in her seventh month with _this_ child. “My cellmate ended up being very protective over me. She had two children waiting for her, one my age, so she helped a lot.”

                Snow’s surprised that she is opening up like this. She’s never heard Emma talk about her time being pregnant with Henry, so she remains quiet as not to interrupt the thoughts that are tumbling out.

                She laughs lightly. “The thing I remember the most is being so _furious_ at Neal. The entire time I was there, throughout the pregnancy, that was all I could think about.”

                “Neal was Henry’s father?” Snow asks.

                Emma rolls her eyes. “Yes, and the asshole that got me in prison in the first place.”

                Snow feels her own blood start to boil at the faceless man. Her hands unwittingly ball into fists, wishing nothing but harm on the person who hurt her daughter and ostensibly her grandson.

                Emma is silent a moment. “How was I to know that Henry would turn out so … so unlike him? He’s so good, so selfless. He’s so innocent.”

                Snow grabs up her hand again. “He’s an amazing kid.”

                She nods. “He is.” She wipes her palms on her leggings and pulls an uncomfortable face. “I knew I couldn’t put him in the foster system when he was born. I couldn’t do that. I mean, I had a couple more months to stay so I _could_ have done it, technically, and gotten him later. But I know how it was and I had absolutely no prospects once I was out. I thought he would be able to be loved, protected, and safe if I gave him up. Instead he ends up with Regina,” she says, spitting out the name.

                “I think she loves him, in her own way,” Snow murmurs.

                Emma sighs. “She also made him think he was crazy. She also kept him away from everyone else. She also treats him like a damn possession,” she presses. She blows out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t want that for him.”

                “I know. But as soon as you saw it, you stayed for him,” Snow counters.

                Emma is stiff. “This time, I get all these quiet moments with her. In the beginning, I was freaked out but then … I don’t know, it was just us. I know that I get to keep her and I know that I will get to raise her. I know … I know the man who gave me her didn’t have a choice in leaving.” She inhales, frowning. “What if I can’t be a good enough mom? What if I’m not enough for her … for him?” she asks, her insecurities rising to the forefront.

                Snow smiles, embracing her. “If that’s your only worry, there is no worry. Henry loves you. Brianna will love you. And you will never _ever_ be alone again.”

                “It would be so much better …,” she trails off, shaking her head.

                “If he was here,” Snow gently finishes. “It’s okay to want that. But you’ll have me. And David. And Red, Granny, Grumpy, and everyone else there beside you.”

                She smiles through her tears. “It’ll be nice to know that I’ll have that support,” she says, the closest she will get to another thank you at this point. She pauses, pressing her lips together and holding onto her belly and there is that vulnerability that she is still cautious to show. “And … and we’ll tell her about him, right?”

                Snow nods, a sad smile stretching across her face. “Everything. She’ll love him, too.”

                A twig snaps and they see Mulan gingerly approaching them, a bag in hand. Her dark eyes are apologetic at interrupting them, but the rest of her face is all business. “I have the poppy powder,” she declares, raising the bag.

                Snow nods firmly. She no longer fears the netherworld, not after being able to work through Emma’s own fears and worries. “Let’s do it then.”

                Mulan leads her to a hidden nook where there is already a sheet of fabric laid out for her. Snow positions on the sheet and leans back. Emma grabs her hand and she squeezes it in appreciation. “Come back soon. Say hi to Henry for me,” she whispers.

                Snow smiles and then nods to Mulan. The warrior reaches in and removes a handful of rust orange dust. “You will sleep for an hour, two at the most. This will have to be enough. I did not find any more.”

                Snow nods. “It should be fine. Thank you, Mulan.”

                The woman nods sharply and holds out the hand, blowing the dust on her face gently. Snow’s eyes flutter, and before she knows it, she is back in the room.

                Smoke clouds her vision and flames are dancing everywhere she can see. She takes a deep breath, choking out ash and fighting back the fear. “Henry!” she cries, searching for a figure beyond the flames.

                “Snow?” she hears.

                She turns, gasping as she sees David. “Charming?” she asks, the nickname falling easily from her lips. “But … I don’t understand. Henry should be here.”

                He shakes his head, stepping closer. Love is reflected in his eyes and she leans forward automatically, heart swelling. “I couldn’t let him come back here. It’s too dangerous,” he replies.

                A tearful smile spreads across her face as she realizes. “You found me,” she breathes, walking closer still to the hot flames.

                David smiles brightly, taking another step. “No. This time, Snow, you found _me_ ,” he replies, his eyes shimmering with emotion.

                She looks at the barrier and her head falls to the side. “I don’t know how much time we have here.”

                David nods, knowing they need to get down to business. “Gold. He says there’s a way to stop Cora. We have to stun her like we did with him.” He pauses and she can see him grimace. “Regina doesn’t want her mother coming back. She’s helping us for the time being as well. She’s says Cora’s greatest weakness is her lust for power and her ego in having it. Do whatever you can to keep Emma safe.”

                Snow thinks about it, knowing how much power her daughter born of true love has. _And maybe more with the child_. “The quill. That’s how it was done with Rumplestiltskin.”

                David shakes his head. “It wasn’t the quill, it was the ink. There’s a jar of it in his cell where we kept him. Get it. Get it and stop her.” He rests, staring at her as if she’s the only thing in the world. “And come home.”

                She nods quickly, coming forward again as something dawns on her. “But … Charming, how are you here? There’s no way for you to be here, unless ….” She gasps, feeling the realization of what he must’ve done wash over her.

                David smiles apologetically. “I had to see you. I couldn’t have Henry here.”

                Snow’s eyes close in desperation. Her romantic, reckless, loving, beautiful, _charming_ husband. “I love you.”

                David’s eyes become mischievous. “And that’s how we’ll break my curse,” he says and jumps over the flames. He lands in front of her and she laughs aloud.

                “You are noble, my prince,” she teases. Then she grins as she remembers. “I helped Emma pick a name for the baby.”

                “Yeah?” he asks, his eyes twinkling in excitement.

                “Brianna,” she finishes, beaming at him. “Our second grandchild. And now we know for sure that she’ll be born surrounded by love.”

                David’s eyes glaze briefly and she wonders where his mind is at. He shakes his head. “True love’s kiss first,” he grins, leaning forward.

                Her arms open to welcome him, but as they get closer, they fall through and past each other. “No!” she cries as she looks around. “No, we’re not really here!” She can feel herself start to fade as she is awakening. “No, no, no! I’m waking up! You’ll be stuck here!”

                David only smiles. “It’s okay. You’ll get back, and then you’ll wake me as I woke you. You will always find me, and I will always find you.”

                Snow sobs, hiding her face. “Yes. Will we always lose each other, too? Is that our fate?”

                David shakes his head, something coming from behind his features that makes his whole face light up. “No. No, I refuse to believe that. Especially once you see what is waiting when you three get back to Storybrooke.”

                Snow feels confusion but lets his faith wrap around her. “Okay. Okay, I’ll have faith. I love you,” she says.

                He smiles. “I love you. I’ll be waiting for you. And so wi—“

                He is cut off as she wakes. She sighs heavily, feeling tears well up inside her.

                “Hey, are you okay?” Emma asks cautiously.

                Snow shakes her head and she blinks a couple times, getting used to the fresh air and daylight again. “We need to get back quick. David’s in a sleeping curse.”

                Emma’s eyes burn with fury. “Who the hell put him in a sleeping curse?”

                Snow laughs ironically. “He put himself in one so Henry didn’t have to go back. We have a way, now, though. We need to go back to the Palace, to the prisons. We need to get back so I can wake him up.”

 


	17. Killian (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize that this one is so short. It’s a bit of a bridge chapter. It contains spoilers and some dialogue from 2x08 and 2x09.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos! I really appreciate them all!

                Killian twirls the bag from his hook, staring at it in confusion.

                He had never been great at magic. He has only learned a few tricks in his travels and conserved their usage wisely. Now has never been a better time to use it, but his head is throbbing painfully at what the action has cost him.

                He looks inside again. It is glowing with magic, as crimson as fury. As pure as the princess is, no signs of darkness or malice.

                He perhaps understands why Cora, Regina, and Rumplestiltskin are so agreeable to this particular magic. Removing it had sent a thrill up inside him, a wash of absolute power. To stare at it is to see someone else’s life pulsating in your hand. You know that you have absolute control over this person. You could decide how they move, how they speak, how they live, how they die. It is so strong, yet so breakable. It is heady, addictive.

                The action has killed something inside of him, something that had always hoped he wouldn’t stoop to the crocodile’s level. The girl had been so fitful in sleep, so prideful and noble. When he had used the magic, she had thrashed in pain but remained asleep. A part of his soul is blackened, darker than it ever has been before. Yet, as Aurora’s heart beats in the satchel, he knows that this will be the only way to get his revenge.

                Cora walks in, searching the pit before studying his form with disdain.

                “Looking for someone?” he sneers.

                She looks around the cell once more. “So, you freed her. And you … stuck around? For what, your petty satisfaction in seeing me suffer?”

                He smirks. “Oh, watching you suffer is a tempting motivation, love, but that wasn’t it.”

                Cora smiles falsely, fury glinting in her gaze. “Well, then, you must have a death wish.” She uses her power and his back crushes against the dirt wall. His breath pops out in a whoosh but he manages a chuckle.

                “Now, darling, no need for theatrics,” he says as the rock emerges from the wall and surrounds his arms.

                She smiles, the anger and delight mixing. She yanks his hook free and traces it down his neck. The metal is cool and he feels shivers begin. She uses it to pull aside his coat, exposing his chest, exposing his _heart_. “You know I have to kill you,” she murmurs, a point of regret in her voice.

                He knows he has yet to drop his ace, but he still feels fear creep inside him. This is how Milah died, how Cora would kill him now if he lets her. She would rip his heart out of his chest, show it to him, and then her hand would collapse, and the delicate thing would turn to dust. His voice is surprisingly steady as he speaks. “You should try thanking me.”

                Cora’s head pops up. “Oh, really? Why is that?” she questions in a purr.

                “Because I’ve brought you a gift. One you’ll really enjoy,” he counters. “It’s in the satchel.”

                She stares at him, the bottom of her eyes wrinkling as she considers him. He meets her gaze head-on, letting the fear drift away. “What is it?” she mutters through clenched teeth.

                He grins. “Customarily, surprise is part of the fun of gift giving,” he answers. He jerks his head toward it in open invitation. “Open it.”

                She still seems unsure, but tugs the strap of the satchel free with the hook. She narrows her eyes at him once more then peers into it. She sighs, lovingly. “Is that …?”

                “Indeed, it is. And you can get anything you want with that,” he says.

                Her hand flicks up and he falls to the ground without her even looking up. “Whenever I underestimate you, pirate, you always seem to make up for it in spades.”

                He smirks, brushing himself off with flourish. “Only spades, my dear Queen of Hearts?”

                She spares him a look of gratitude, eyes softening. “We’ll see, Hook.”

                He leans over her shoulder, looking down at the organ and swallowing back the bitterness at seeing it again. “What shall we do here?”

                She smiles. “Well, they will have to believe that you may be on their side, my dear Hook.”

                Hook lets a smile fall on his face even though on the inside he is cringing. No matter what her mother did to him, he will always be on Swan’s side. She is too much like him, too much a fragile soul in a strong shell. She is quick-witted, smart, defiant, and able to perceive in shades of grey. It also unnerves him how much he cares about the child. She carries the offspring of her lost love, something he can only dream about.  

                He wonders how he might have changed if Milah had given him a child. Perhaps he would have forgone revenge in deference to his blood. Or perhaps he would have lost even more that cloudy autumn day and his bloodlust would have been greater. Perhaps he would have been too blind with rage and sought out the Crocodile before he was prepared. Perhaps he would have fought very bravely and died very quickly, miserable in his ineptitude.

                He will give Emma the chance to raise that infant, so she might have some lingering happiness where he only has emptiness.

                Snow White is a different story. Their whole trip up the beanstalk, she had been mostly silent as she glared at him periodically. She was a strong lass, to be sure, but one with irritatingly pure motivations and “good” intentions. She was all too easy to read, to bite into insecurities like an exposed wire. She is too wrapped up in the idea of right and wrong to care about anything he might have done for her side. She basically hated him on sight and didn’t care to hide it. He hadn’t been all too shocked when she had shackled him in the lair instead of continuing their pursuit together. He had felt betrayed, but not surprised.

                “What will you have her do, then?” he asks finally.

                She raises the heart to her lips, blowing on it slightly. “She’s meeting up with them.” Her eyes turn cold then close in glee.

                He watches her as she whispers upon the heart, things he knows Aurora will be saying to the group. He is unnerved by it. To know that this could be done with a heart instead of simply crushing it into nothingness is frightening. While Milah’s fate is still fresh, painful, and enraging … it could have been worse. He doesn’t think he understood that until he met this lot of royalty.

                Cora’s eyes meet his suddenly, a knowing look passing over her face as she brings the heart closer to her lips. “I think … I think he may care for you,” she says, her look pointed.

                “Nice touch, that,” he replies, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a pained sneer.

                She drops the heart to her side and cocks her head. “You think I don’t know? Oh, how sweet. You still think you can fool me.”

                He glowers, the fingers of his good hand clenching. “It will not interfere. I took a heart for you. Now you’ve a princess under your command, a spy for your side.” He raises his head higher. “Now, can we get on with this Storybrooke business?”

                She considers him, fingers trailing against the edge of his leather collar. “I still think you thirst for revenge,” she murmurs. Then she shrugs. “Why not? I hate to travel alone. All we need is the compass.”

                “Which you will soon have, thanks to me,” he replies.

                She smiles. “Yes. And they think they’ve found the way to trap me. I think we should let them know I am not so easily beaten, don’t you?”

                He smiles tightly. “Of course, my Queen.”

                They travel in a puff of smoke, finding themselves in the dungeons of the Southern Palace. It is dank, cold. He finds pleasure in the fact the ‘Stiltskin spent time in this ominous place trapped under royal guard. That he was denied freedom.

                “What to do now, I wonder?” he asks.

                She smiles and holds up the heart. “We wait,” she says. Her hand flies up and he feels the shimmer of magic but nothing seems different.

                “And what did that do?”

                She sighs. “Do you wish to be seen right away by our enemies? No, we must wait to see where they keep the compass. Then, we strike.”

                He frowns. “So, a barrier of invisibility, then? Hardly your most intricate spell.”

                She looks skyward. “Must you always speak so insolently? I am far more powerful than you, far more than anyone in this realm. Believe me when I say that I am using the spells most applicable to the situation,” she demands.

                “Fine, then,” he replies. He knows that she sent a probe out for magic after the beanstalk incident. He felt the familiar ripples. He is proud that he can keep his cards hidden, that he managed to have the forethought to keep Emma and the child’s powers concealed. “Are we to wait all night? They are not benefited by magical travel.”

                “We’ll wait as long as is needed, my dear pirate. This is a prize that is worth our patience. It will allow us passage to this new world where even you will be an exceptional magic being,” she says snidely.

                “Will you be garnering me with a taste of your wit, then? Or how else should we pass the time?” he asks, grinning.

                She purses her lips. “I don’t wish to hear more from you. You still need to pay for you impertinence. Silence will be my prize.”

                “And here I was thinking the heart was the payment,” he mutters in irritation.

                She levels a glare but says nothing more.

                The girls wander in after a few hours of tense silence. They begin rummaging inside the cell and he closes his eyes against how stupid they are being. Not one is on the outside, in case something happens. His head shakes as the inevitable occurs and Aurora’s compelled to throw a stone against the lever keeping the bars apart.

                “What the hell? Aurora, what are you doing?” Emma cries, ever the tactful.

                “Helping me,” Cora purrs, stepping out into the open. He follows grudgingly, trailing behind like a pet. He leans against the rock wall, idly twisting the hook on his wrist.

                Emma’s eyes are wide with fury, narrowing on him in particular. He avoids her look, instead locking eyes on Snow. Hers are angry but resigned, as if this is completing all her preconceptions of him. He raises an eyebrow as she steps in front of her child, partially blocking her from view. “How?” Snow asks.

                Cora uses the power to pull the compass from Emma’s slack grasp. “No!” she cries and rushes forward, impeded by the bars. She hits them with an open palm, hair flying as she rages against it, pulling back and forth aggressively.

                Cora shakes her head with a grin. “Now, now, don’t waste your energy, dear. You have so little left with that babe inside you,” she says, tucking the compass into the bag around her skirts. “Rumplestiltskin himself couldn’t escape from this cell.” She turns to Aurora, smiling in false gentleness. “Thank you, Aurora. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

                The princess’ jaw sets, her eyes melting in ferocity as she seems to realize that she is acting outside herself. Emma turns on her, gaping at the supposed disloyalty. “Why? Why would you do this?”

                “How could you?” Snow pipes in, tears swimming in big, innocent eyes.

                Aurora shakes her head. “No,” she says, pitching forward to grab Emma’s hand. “You have to believe me!”

                “Now, now, don’t blame her,” Cora coos in agreement. “She was only doing what I told her to.” She pulls the heart from the satchel, swinging it in front of the women’s faces.

                Emma’s breath hitches, hand drifting to her bracelet, and he can see the walls in her crack at the sight. “You … you took her _heart_?” she asks.

                “Actually,” he cuts in, pushing forward. “I did. It was a gift.”

                Her eyes center on him, shock filling them. “ _You_ did?” she asks incredulously. “How … how could you? This is what he did to Milah!”

                He sneers, feeling a sharp stab of guilt as she uses her name. Her aim, no doubt. “The girl is still alive, isn’t she?”

                She shakes her head and he can palpably feel her disappointment. “I thought you were different. I thought you understood how cruel it was _to take someone’s heart_! I thought you _cared_ about your Milah,” she spits spitefully.

                He looks away, anger stirring in his blood. “Yes, I care about her. I care about my _revenge_ and you all weren’t getting me there, now were you?”

                Cora smirks and squeezes the heart, causing Aurora to cry out in sharp pain. Emma’s eyes widen and he can see every buried fear rise to the surface. He can’t bring himself to look at the pretty, sweet face of the girl as she moans in agony. Cora’s grip loosens and his eyes feel annoyingly wet. “Forgive us. We’d love to stay and chat, but Storybrooke awaits us.”

                Cora turns and Hook follows more languidly.

                “Hook, wait!”

                He turns, meeting Emma’s tear-filled eyes. He busily tries to hide his own emotion. “Parting words, princess?” he asks.

                Her hands limply curl against the bars, fearlessly capturing his gaze while hope and pleas float in them. “Please. My son, Hook. … _Killian_. Don’t do this. I need my son and daughter, _Henry_ and _Brianna_ , to be together, be _safe_ ,” she beseeches, her hand dropping to her belly.

                His resolve is loosening, but then he catches sight of Snow White edging closer to her daughter. Irrational anger drifts through him, reminding him that he needs to harness it if he is to prove to Cora that he will never again help Swan. He will do more if he is the right hand of the devil than in her path. “You should have considered all that before you betrayed me atop that beanstalk, Snow White, and the rest of you hadn’t run away, leaving me there,” he bites out.

                The dark haired woman stiffens, a hand wrapping around Emma’s shoulders protectively. “You would have done the same, Hook, given half a chance.”

                He levels his gaze with Emma once more so she can see the truth in it, stepping forward until his shadow covers her. His brow smooths and his tension leaves. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

                She looks down and he can see her blinking back tears, the will to protect herself winning out. “Maybe not. But my kids have done nothing to you,” she replies.

                His jaw sets, brushing away her reasoning because he has nothing to answer to it. It is true enough, and partially the reason he is on her side. Instead, he deflects and holds out a necklace. “Do you know what this is?”

                She immediately grabs for it and he yanks it back quickly, chuckling at her swiftness. A spry thing, for certain, and he can’t keep the admiration from his gaze.

                “The bean the giant kept,” Snow breathes in answer.

                He nods. He needs this grand speech with Cora listening in so attentively. “Yes, indeed. A pirate always keeps a souvenir of his conquest, but this … well, this is much more than a mere trinket. This is a symbol. Something that was once magical, full of hope, possibility,” he says as he twists it in his good hand. He holds it up to Emma’s narrowed eyes. “Now look at it. Dried up, dead, useless. Much like you,” he says pointedly. Her eye twitches and her brow furrows, just slightly, curiosity in her stormy gaze. A different reaction than the one he sought. “The time for making deals is done, just as I’m done with you all,” he sneers out.

                He can practically feel Cora’s smile behind him and he knows he is doing the right thing. He will have everything: his revenge, his morals, and his promise. He doesn’t have to give up one to get the other.

                Snow is leaning against the bars, her eyes shut and tears rolling down her face. Mulan is slumped in a corner, staring blankly at her sword. Aurora is coughing lightly, clutching a hand over where her heart should be. Emma is shaking her head, already trying to move on to the next idea, the next way out. Good girl. Cut loose what will only hinder you. “We’ll send our regards from Storybrooke.”

                Emma reaches out. “Wait!”

                Hook turns a final time, schooling his features a last time. “I’ve told you, there’s no use in trying to appeal to my good side. The time for that has long since passed.”

                She shakes her head. “I know that. Just … don’t let Henry get hurt. Keep him safe.”

                He gives a curt nod and follows Cora out the labyrinth that will lead to the surface. He will make sure of it. Someone in this tale deserves a happy ending.

 

 


	18. Graham (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you for all the love!! This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x09 and then takes a flying leap in another direction. If you have any questions on character motivations, please message me (here, tumblr, wherever). I am more than willing to discuss my views on each character. :D

 

                Graham stares at David’s face thoughtfully. He looks peaceful, but doesn’t stir from his place on the bed in the backroom of Gold’s shop. He periodically checks for burns or scars appearing on his skin, but there is nothing. He remains unchanged.

                Henry is passed out on half of his lap on the couch they are sharing, tears drying on his face and clutching the second pendant that Regina had made for him.

                “He won’t wake on his own,” Regina calls from behind him.

                He half turns, smoothing down Henry’s hair in the same gesture. “He will when Snow comes back,” he asserts. He can’t help but feel angry whenever he sees her, to remember the things she did to him, to remember what she did to Emma and Henry. He knows to hide it, though; his rage won’t be quenched by Regina knowing about it.

                Her lips are pursed, anger potent in her gaze as she watches Henry on his lap. His arm circles him a little more fully in response. “And if Cora comes instead?” she asks.

                He chuckles humorlessly. “Has Gold been working on your insecurities, Regina? We told them how to defeat her. We just have to wait.”

                He can tell she wants to injure him in some way. He is fine with that. As long as her anger is no longer directed at Henry. “We don’t know for sure if the message was delivered, Huntsman. He’s still asleep and can’t tell us if he reached her or not.” Her hands cross in front of her.

                He shakes his head. “He would have reached her. They will be on their way.”

“This is more optimism than I would have expected from you, Huntsman.”

                He smirks. “Then I suppose you don’t really know me, do you?” he ventures.

                She gives a look of disgust, hands burrowing into her sides. He’s glad that maybe she has an inkling now that he man who she had blackmailed into being is not truly the same one in front of her. He had feared for his life every day, feared the pain and humiliation until he was numb with it, and _still_ found ways to defy her. He wonders if she is truly surprised by his defiance now that she has nothing to hold over him.

                He looks down at the boy and shakes his head. “I have known these two long enough to know they will make it back to one another … and so do you. And Emma is still fighting for Henry and I _know_ she won’t give up on him.”

                She frowns deeply at the mention of Emma. “I am his mother.”

                His eyes snap up, knowing that even though he could point out numerous instances in which he had been a possession more than anything, Henry still believes it as well. “So is Emma,” he finally says coolly.

                She shakes her head, recognizing that they were getting nowhere in this conversation. “We have to take precautions. We have to consider the possibility that my mother will be coming through that portal, not James’ family.”

                Graham bites back the angry retort of them being his family as well; Emma is his family, and he will fight for hers. “ _You_ can consider it. But even if she does, they will be coming, too.”

                She leaves in a huff, heels clicking against the floor angrily. “I’ll return in an hour,” she grinds out. He shakes his head, bringing his hands to his temple to roll away the headache that being around her brings about.

                After almost an hour, Henry stirs on his lap, eyes blinking open. “Are they back?” he asks hoarsely, the hope in his expression crushing him.

                Graham grimaces. “Not quite yet, Henry. But you know they will be.”

                Henry nods. “I went back to the netherworld, just for a second. Grandpa was there.”

                Graham lets his eyes close. “Dammit, Henry …,” he sighs. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ do that again. _Please_.”

                Henry looks a little sheepish and plays with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go back, but … well, he’s there and he said the message got through. He’s waiting for grandma to come back and kiss him.”

                He hugs the boy to him, feeling a tension build and simultaneously release. “Just, never again, okay?”

                Henry nods. “Okay.”

                He feels a sigh release from his chest. “We have to make sure you’re healthy and intact when your mom and grandma gets home, right?”

                Henry nods, something strange passing over his face before he smiles. “Eight months now.”

                Graham breathes a sigh and feels a clawing in his stomach, of anticipation and current misery. “Yes,” he replies gently. “I’ll finally see them after eight months.”

                His eyes dart around, deliberately not focusing on him. “See her,” Henry corrects.

                Graham smiles softly. “Yes, see her,” he replies.

                Henry hugs him impulsively. “If mom’s your true love, that basically makes you like my stepdad, right?”

                Graham chuckles, feeling his heart twist in wistfulness. “I think a couple legalities need to be performed before any of that. And you know how stubborn your mom is. I doubt we’ll be getting there quick.”

                Henry snorts. “Wait ‘til you see her again and _then_ you can tell me about how long before you guys get there,” he retorts.

                Graham grins. He knows he will be ready for whatever their relationship will mean to Emma. Anything. He will be there for her for whatever she is ready for and then willfully chip through her walls until she is comfortable enough to let him in all the way. He has a feeling he will need to work doubly hard after his ill-timed death.

                Henry sits up and jumps onto David’s bed. He peers onto his sleeping face a moment. “It’s weird. Like, I know he’s in there, but I also know he’s _there_ , too.”

                He shrugs. “Yeah, there is a lot of weirdness when it comes to magic.”

                Henry’s gaze levels on him. “Like with your heart. It wasn’t in you, but you were still alive.”

                He cringes at the seriousness on his face. “Henry …,” he trails off, then stands. “Here,” he says, grabbing the child’s hand and placing it over his chest. He lets it stay there a moment and then gently removes it and looks right into the boy’s soft brown eyes. “The false heart, during the curse? It felt a lot different. This one is _real_ , Henry. Emma somehow restored it to me. And it’s not going anywhere.” _Unless I need to give it up to get her back,_ he silently adds.

                Henry looks away. “I know what mom … what my _other_ mom, did to you,” he finally says.

                He takes a deep breath. “I know that must be hard for you to know. Just remember that I have it back, now. You don’t need to worry about me.”

                Henry’s face twitches and he can tell he’s not completely convinced. “’Kay,” he responds timidly.

                Graham is searching for a way to placate him somehow, for that is all that he can do at this point, when Rumplestiltskin walks in, leaning heavily on his cane, Regina stoically standing behind him.

                “Henry, we’re going to have to ask that you stay here and watch over David,” Regina says, her voice in that high tone that she uses around him.

                Graham stands, recognizing that they are not asking him. “And where will we be going?” he asks warily.

                Rumplestiltskin tents his fingers. “Well, to prepare for Emma and Mary Margaret’s homecoming, of course,” he says.

                Graham lets his gaze fall between the two. “Why would you want to leave Henry alone? Someone should be with him.”

                Rumplestiltskin gives an easy smile. “Well, you’ll be needing both of our magic if Cora comes through that portal. And I’m sure those two particular women would prefer to see a friendly face than our two, wouldn’t they?”

                Graham looks back to Henry. “Then, Henry should come, too.”

                “Not if Cora might be there,” Regina cuts in. “I wouldn’t put him in her path of danger.”

                Graham is torn. “Then, they’ll have to deal with you two. David and I swore we’d never leave Henry alone, not after the stable incident,” he proclaims, locking eyes with Regina.

                She looks away guiltily, hands unconsciously going to her throat. Henry’s bruises are barely yellow blemishes on his skin now. “Belle will be here,” ‘Stiltskin says with a smile, gesturing toward the storefront.

                Graham and Henry exchange a glance of confusion. He walks cautiously to the door. Belle is by the counter, balancing a tray of tea things, her dark hair half covering her face. “Belle?” he asks.

                She looks up with a sympathetic  yet somehow bright smile and lets the tray rest. “I heard you need some help?” she says.

                He chuckles. Maybe things will be fine. They’ll be taking precautions on every front. And he will see Emma when she first arrives. “Henry. You’ll protect him?”

                She smiles and walks up to him, surrounding him in an embrace that he leans into. She’s saving him this time and he will let her. He can hear The Dark One shift angrily behind him. “I will guard him with my life, Graham. He is an innocent who must be protected.”

                His face warms slightly, realizing that she is using his own words back at him, back from when they were both very different prisoners in a Dark Palace. He feels honored that she would remember his words. “Thank you, Belle.”

                She holds up a book of fairytales, one he knows well, clutched against her chest. “I figured since I am a librarian now, it’s only fair that I read to him.”

                He laughs, feeling relaxed relief for the first time since they learned of the troubles in their land. “Seems like a plan. I think Henry will be amenable to it.” The boy loved to spout out different anecdotes from their book of histories.

                “We’ll need to be going, Huntsman,” the imp called from the other room.

                He closes his eyes and grabs Belle by the elbow. “Hold on, let me tell him, first,” he says, gently guiding the woman into the room.

                Henry smiles at the sight of them. “Belle! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” he exclaims, bouncing from the bed to the ground and rushing up to them. He stops short and beams up at them. “Is that The Book?” he asks excitedly.

                Graham ruffles his hair. “Belle’s going to be with you while we get your mom and grandma, Henry, okay?” he says. He wants to be sure the kid is okay with it before he rushes off.

                Henry nods enthusiastically. “Sure! Bring them home!” he chirps, hugging him around the waist before pulling Belle’s arm to the chair eagerly.

                Graham lets himself watch the scene for a minute, of Henry flipping through the pages to show Belle her own story and asking her to read. ‘Stiltskin moves the tea things to them and Belle is carefully pouring some for her and Henry, encouraging him to drink. He nods to the other two adults. “Let’s go.”

                “Right away, Huntsman,” ‘Stiltskin replies, gesturing toward the door.

                They get into the car. It is tense with silence and he awkwardly stretches his hand and balls a fist reflexively as it builds. He notices they are heading to the edge of town. “Where are we going exactly?” he asks after a time. 

                Gold turns fluidly, guiding the car into a parking lot. “The hospital. There is an edge to another world there,” he replies smoothly.

                “Has there always been a portal to another world just lying around in the hospital?” he asks sarcastically.

                “Portals are tricky, but they are predictable in a way. I know _exactly_ where this one is going to pop up,” he replies. Graham feels a little of his unease wane, for his words are sure and lacking insincerity.

                However, once they step onto the grounds he feels his suspicion rising. The staff seem to be mostly missing, especially as they descend down the staircase. He follows the two to the basement, his steps slowing as he wonders if he should trust these two particular beings at this point in time. The lights overhead vibrate with a faint buzzing, casting filtered green-white light through the hallways in small sections. He passes padded rooms and locked doors, wondering where this will culminate.

                “Almost there, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin calls from ahead. His voice echoes hollowly on the walls as does the steady tattoo of his cane and Regina’s purposeful heel clicks. He sounds like the Dark One, now, an edge of madness and evil in his tone. He almost falters, but he reminds himself of the women waiting on him and steps forward.

                Finally, they reach a door. Gold pulls out a key from seemingly nowhere and unlocks it swiftly.

                “Where have you been, I’ve been waiting for hours!” a voice calls from behind a curtain. Graham stiffens, recognizing the accent even behind the malice.

                The door slams behind him. “What are you playing at here, Gold?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as Victor comes into view.

                He looks half-crazed, his hair in disarray, his eyes wild, and his mouth parted in a strange sort of grin. “You’ve brought him,” he whispers. Graham looks back, realizing that his exit is blocked and that he has been tricked.

                Gold leans on his cane, eyes shining. “Sorry, dearie. I need you out of the way while I call in a favor of Henry’s mother.”

                He looks between the three, knowing that there is no way out of it and feeling impotent, frustrated, and furious, all at once. “I’m sorry I made it so easy for you,” he says tensely, his hands clenching into fists.

                Rumplestiltskin shrugs. “If you had resisted, you wouldn’t have made it very far. Not with our magic behind us.”

                Graham sneers. “Who said I’m done resisting?” he says and quickly pivots to punch Victor. A hard crack resounds in the room and blood spurts from his nose as he howls in pain. He is able to watch it in satisfaction even as the rest of his body is immobilized by Regina’s power.

                She is grinning at him, that grin that says she thinks she’s won. “Always have to be a problem, don’t we Huntsman?”

                He lets out a harsh chuckle. “If it makes it harder on you, sure.” He glowers at her. “You won’t win. Emma and Snow are returning and they will defeat you.”

                Her eyebrows raise and she smirks. “Defeat me? How will they do that if they die before they reach this world?”

                He struggles against the invisible bonds, hopelessly trying to reach her. “You won’t do it,” he hisses.

                Regina laughs. “But then I’ll have everything I want! Frankenstein went insane and dissected _you_. Prince Charming is trapped in a sleeping curse he will never wake from. And then, magic is so different here … the portal collapsed and killed Snow and Emma. Oh, but at least Cora isn’t here. I saved the town even if I couldn’t save you all. And then Henry will have only _me_. And we will be together.”

                He feels his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he fights with his fear and his absolute faith that it won’t happen. Her dark eyes are glinting, sure. Filled with a contented evilness he isn’t sure he’s ever seen in Regina’s eyes, one that chills him.

                He glances over at Gold to see that something has changed behind his eyes. He looks like he has leveled out, returning to Gold rather than the Dark One. He steps forward and yanks a strand of hair from his head painfully. “I’ll be needing this, dearie.”

                And he understands.

                Henry said he would need both his _and_ Emma’s hair for the potion. Gold will ensure that they will enter this world safely. He is only using Regina here as a pawn, as he always has. Gold nods to Victor, and even through his madness and the bright crimson blood spouting from his nose there is an understanding. He _understands_. He will not die here, but of that he cannot care. Emma will be safe; this is _all_ that matters.

                He lets himself slacken in relief, but lets Regina think it is defeat.

                She smiles at him, letting her hand fall down his neck and across his chest. It brings back memories he would rather have shoved to the wayside and he wishes he can recoil from her touch. “I did miss having you as my pet. But now, your death will serve a greater purpose than keeping the curse hidden,” she murmurs.

                He thinks she means it to be some sort of appeasement for him and his face screws up in disbelief. “I have found true love despite all you did to keep it from me. I’ve won.”

                Her face tightens and she steps back. “We’ll see if you still feel that way once Dr. Frankenstein has finished with you.” She leaves in a puff of smoke, as dramatic as ever.

                Rumplestiltskin smirks as he leaves, his cane coming forward again. Graham’s breath hitches. “Keep her safe,” he calls.

                He turns, his eyes bright. “I told you: I’m a fan of true love and what it produces. What a _waste_ it would be to have her leave this world so soon. Before her life even began.”

                Graham thinks that is an odd statement; while _their_ story had ended prematurely, Emma has definitely been living a purposeful life.

                ‘Stiltskin has moved on, though, turning with a darker glare to Victor. “Remember to keep him alive. Study all you want, but have him back to the Charmings promptly tomorrow morning.”

                Victor nods and injects him with something that instantly makes his eyes heavy. “No worries, Sheriff. Just a little research.”

 


	19. Emma (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Okay, here’s the thing, guys: I think this may be the last week of biweekly posts for awhile. My boss is leaving us and things are going to be a mess at work, so extra hours will be had by all in addition to another PT job. Weekly updates are definitely going to be held to! And I will try to get back to biweekly if it looks feasible! 
> 
> This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x09 and 2x13.

 

                Emma sluggishly follows her mother over another hill. Something has changed in the weeks they have been stuck here, and not just regarding their relationship. Yes, she considers Mary Margaret to be mom, at least somewhat. But there is something changing to the bump, too. The baby’s position has moved, shifted. Her center of gravity feels different and she can feel the tiredness piquing; she feels weaker than she ever has.

                She ignores it and presses on.

                Mulan is glancing at her every few paces and she knows that the warrior wishes she had been left behind with Aurora. Emma refuses, however, to be dead weight. She will help. She will protect their family. And they will get back to her son.

                They reach the crest and she pants, feeling winded in the worst way. She _cannot_ be weak. She cannot be the reason they don’t get home. Her eyes scan the mostly barren, sandy mush until they land on a swirling mass of water. There are Hook and Cora, delighting in their believed win.

                She can feel the anger coursing through her as she stares at the pirate. After she had put her trust on him, let him put some magical powder voodoo on her, he defects back to Cora. She would have gotten him to Storybrooke. She wouldn’t have helped him in his revenge, but she would have gotten him there.

                She sees Mary Margaret raise her bow and aim, her eyes fiery with intent. The arrow sails through the air and cuts right to the compass, making it land somewhere in the sand.

                “You’re not going anywhere! That compass is taking us home!” she calls.

                Cora looks up at them, eyes narrowing in challenge. She doesn’t even look at Hook as she says, “Find it first. I’ll take care of them.”

                Emma skids across the uneven surface, pulling the borrowed sword free from her belt. She is met halfway by Hook, who slides his sword teasingly against hers.

                “Now, now. I’ve already made my deals and you are not part of them. I thought you’d heard – the compass is mine,” he says.

                 She looks at him, startled. He is lying. That little piece that always rings out whenever someone lies … it is screaming right now. She doesn’t let the confusion settle. “Good for me I’ve never been one to listen,” she fires back hotly and pulls back the sword to clash against his.

                She doesn’t really know what she’s doing, and she recognizes this. She’s been able to get by on pure adrenaline but that part is failing her now. She can see the spots where she is leaving herself vulnerable, can see the missteps that she is making, can feel herself tiring, can even _see_ it. She knows he must see them, too. And yet he never aims for her. He keeps up with appearances, but his blows land on the strongest part of her sword, never even disarming her. She should be grateful. Instead, it angers her, somewhat. She is stronger than this. She doesn’t need some pirate to take it easy on her.

                In frustration, she changes tactics and cuts upwards, bringing the hilt down to strike between his neck and the shoulder of his good arm. He hisses in pain and knocks her backward. She releases a breath as her arm shoots in sharp pain, looking down briefly at the scrape made on her forearm. His eye twitches, but out of the corner of hers, she sees the satchel containing Aurora’s heart spiraling through the air toward the portal.

                “No!” she cries, attempting to awkwardly push herself to her feet. She doesn’t have enough time; she knows she won’t make it, not without falling through herself. A panicky feeling takes over her in a split second, the same one she felt when Aurora was gasping in pain when Cora clutched the organ.

                What she does not expect is for Hook to toss his body backward and narrowly catch the strap on his hook. He pauses, regaining his footing and tossing it to Mulan. “I may be a pirate, but I bristle over the thought of a woman losing her heart,” he says with full sincerity. And then he grins predatorily at the warrior. “Unless it’s over me, of course.”

                She closes her eyes against the stupidity of his playboy veneer especially after doing something that she knows is important to him. They snap back open to narrow on him. “I thought you only cared about your revenge?”

                He grins wolfishly. “Perhaps you don’t know me that well after all, Swan.”

                No, that’s not right, she thinks as she absently chews on her lip. She thinks she knows him quite well, in fact, after this stunt. He readies his stance. “Didn’t know you had such a soft spot,” she says sarcastically as she mimics his posture.

                He winks. “I don’t. I just like a fair fight.” He swings again, connecting with her sword and the clash rings inside her with the sudden force. He frowns and his next feint is lighter.

                They dance around each other and she knows it is only this – a dance. They are going through the motions. They are playing an act for Cora, one she will willingly play if it means she will get home. She runs at him suddenly, swinging the blade.

                “Good form, for a pregnant woman,” he chuckles, and she growls angrily at his patronizing. He moves the hook to block as she attempts to knee him. “But alas, not good enough.”

                He trips her and she lands awkwardly again, her weapon clutched in too-tight fingers. He pushes back with his own and his hook slides down the steel toward her with a bawdy wink. She squirms and he chuckles deeply.

                “Fair fight, huh?” she grunts, putting more weight in her sword as something digs awkwardly into her side. The baby is oddly still as she struggles. She worries, her focus splitting to bolt concern over her Brianna, before remembering that she needs to get out of this first. Once they are safe, she can make sure she is all right.

                He smirks. “Truly one for the books, love. A solid effort for one in your condition.” He glances down at her belly, his eyes softening considerably before blinking into hardness. “You may want to give up, now. With my life on the line, you’ve left me no choice,” he says. There is apology in his stare, a question of honor.

                With nimble fingers, she finds the metal that was making her uncomfortable and puts it up to his face in triumph. “Why would I, when I’m the one that’s winning?”

                She manages to kick him off of her, almost missing the brief smile that plays on his lips. She twists away, and they connect blades once again. Sweat is beading at her temple, but she pushes through it, feeling elated as he continues to give her ground. He leans to the side, and she sees the opening. She smiles.

                “Thanks,” she grins and slams a fist into his jaw. He stumbles sideways and collapses in a dramatic fashion; she knows the blow didn’t have enough strength behind it to knock him out.

                She smirks down at him, shaking her head in half-bewildered amusement. She is oddly thankful for the fight; she feels on top of her game again, renewed, energized. She turns and sees that Mary Margaret is grappling with Cora, the magic being blocked expertly by Mulan’s blade. She doesn’t seem to be struggling, and she finds optimism seep into her, as unnatural as it is. Mulan herself is gone, and she expects she is on her way to Aurora.

                Aurora will get her heart back. She will live to fight another day. It will beat within her chest instead of turning into dust. The thought warms her.

                She is catching her breath when she sees Mary Margaret get disarmed. The alarm is back, coupled with new fear, and she runs forward to help. Cora throws her to the ground with a burst of magic and she groans as she lands in the sand again.

                Mary Margaret’s eyes are glossy with tears as she shakes her head. “ _Why_ do you want to go to Storybrooke?” she asks.

                Cora smiles. “Because my daughter needs me. And now, I’m going to give her the one thing she’s always wanted – your heart. Goodbye, Snow.”

                Emma screams and doesn’t even know if she is speaking in words, the panic culminating feverishly. She flies in between her mother and Cora, breathing hard as the former drops to the ground by the force of it. Fury contorts her face as she stands before the monster who threatens her family. “You will have to go through me, first!” she shouts, raising her blade threateningly.

                Cora shakes her head pityingly. “Oh, you stupid girl. I would have let you keep the child,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and the sword disappears from her hands in a haze of smoke. Emma gapes at her now empty hands, trembling in terror as her only weapon vanishes. “Don’t you understand? Love is weakness.”

                Cora’s hand glows and Emma feels the dread center and consume her in its chill. _She_ put herself in this position. She put Graham’s child, the tiny thing that she loves so damn much, in danger; now they will die, just like he did. She braces for the impact, waiting for the inevitable. She closes her eyes and thinks of Graham, of her parents, of Henry and lets her last thought be of them rather than Cora in front of her.

                Her eyes abruptly open when Cora’s hand slams onto her chest. It is painful, but more like a slap than anything, her hand against skin instead of inside her. Cora seems confused and pulls back, hand reddening again and coming forward, but this time she doesn’t even touch her body, as if a barrier is formed between them. Emma lets out a breathy laugh of relief. “No. No, you don’t have power!” Cora shrieks.

                Emma lets a wide grin stretch across her face as a tingling pulls through her. _Our power_ , she thinks as Brianna moves suddenly, making her more aware of her presence. For it must be the both of them, she realizes, and the love she has for her daughter envelopes her like a cloak.

                “Yes, _we_ do. Me and my daughter are products of true love. And love? Is strength!” she cries and lets the tingles fly from her, slamming Cora away in a bright beam of gold energy.

                “Emma!” Mary Margaret cries. She runs to her, her green eyes bright with tears. She is mad and grinning and she hugs her close. Emma lets it happen, let’s Mary’s arms surround her tightly. She pulls back and one of her hands come to rest above her heart, where Cora’s hand couldn’t push through, and the other on top of Brianna. “Don’t you try that again!”

                She laughs, feeling tears of shock, release, and happiness stream down her face. “What the hell even was that?”

                Mary Margaret shakes her head. “That sounds like an excellent topic for discussion … once we get home,” she replies, holding out a hand.

                Emma takes it eagerly, the compass clutched in between. “I guess a running leap is the name of the game?”

                “Guess so,” she answers, giving the hand a squeeze of reassurance.

                Together, they jump into the swirling depths.

                Emma gasps as she emerges at the surface, coughing up water and pushing heavy wet locks of hair out of her face. A pail, a rope, and stone are their only way up. “Seriously? The well was real?” she sighs, the echo bouncing upwards.

                Mary Margaret smiles. “I guess this time you’ll actually be able to show me how you get all the way up.”

                Emma studies the length. She had been bluffing that first day in the pit. She knew as soon as the rope went taut that she wouldn’t be able to make it the rest of the way. She was just being stubborn. However, as she examines her options, she realizes she can make this one work for her. “Grab the rope and walk up the stone,” she murmurs, tugging on it a couple times to be sure it would handle the weight.

                “Sounds simple enough,” her mother mutters. She begins and Emma follows, quickly working their way. The fatigue she felt before is now gone; she’ll be seeing her son soon.

                When they reach the top, Emma’s brow immediately furrows in confusion. Above them, in the sky, is a sizzling green shield of magic, waiting to drop. Instead, it reverses back into the sky like backwards lightning, crackling with a boom before dissolving to nothing. Her eyes snap back down. Gold is there, leaning on his cane with a smile. And Regina is laying a couple paces away, passed out cold. She pauses, resting on the edge of the well. “And what happened here?”

                He shrugs. “She wasn’t up to a family reunion. I thought it best to keep her subdued.”

                “Where’s my husband?” Mary Margaret asks, chin held high.

                He turns his gaze to her instead. “With your son, my dear, back at my shop.”

                “Well, let’s go then,” she says, walking in that direction, Mary Margaret ahead.

                Before she can move, she sees the wolf, Graham’s wolf. She huffs, thinking how strange it is to see him again. It trots up to her and presses its nose eagerly against her belly, low whines made in the back of its throat. She smiles and bends to pet it and it leaps away suddenly, following Mary Margaret back towards the town, towards Henry. She follows readily.

                Gold catches her arm mid-pace.

                “One thing first, dearie,” he says. He is eerier than ever now that he can be himself instead of encapsulated in Gold’s identity. “I need to call in on our deal.”

                She stiffens. “Do I get a chance to catch my breath?”

                His eyes flicker to her belly. “I’d prefer you complete this particular task before the second is born,” he replies.

                She rolls her eyes. “What do you want?” She wants to get this over with. She wants to have Henry in her arms again, to prepare for Brianna getting here in a few short weeks, to learn how to be a family with her children.

                “You do honor your agreements, don’t you? I need to find someone, so we’re leaving today. Pack your bag.”

                “ _Today_? I just got back two seconds ago!” she shouts, anger coiling within her. Mary Margaret has already run ahead so she doesn’t even have her support on this. “I haven’t even seen my son yet!”

                He shrugs. “Bring the boy. Just have him packed up by seven this evening. We’re to be at the airport by nine.”

                She closes her eyes, her mind whirling and frustration boiling beneath the surface. “What the hell are we going to do at the airport?” she asks, leveling him with a fuming stare.

                He sneers, anger brewing at the forefront. “We’re finding someone.”

                “Who?” she asks, eyes narrowed. “Who could possibly be so important that I have to drop everything to make sure you find them?”

                “My son. You and Henry are the only ones that can leave without complications, and I’ll need your clever ability at finding people to help me once I get to the vicinity.”

                She raises a brow. “Your son,” she says flatly. “Of course Rumplestiltskin has a son wandering around this world.” She shakes her head, lip curling in distaste. “Wait, if we’re the only ones that can leave without repercussions, how are you getting out?”

                He smiles. “That reminds me,” he says and reaches forward.

                “Ow! Shit, that hurt!” she cries, watching as he pulls back a strand of hair.

                “Consider it payment for saving you three from Regina. She had some horrible plans brewing for you,” he says with a smile.

                She rubs her head, the dull pain slowly fading. “Well, what is that even going to do?”

                “It will allow me to make a potion so I will be able to retain my memories even if I cross the town line and leave this place. So thanks for that, dearie.”

                That reminds her. “Wait. The scroll in your cell. It was only my name, over and over,” she says.

                He nods and taps his head. “Making sure it would stick,” he says, baring his teeth.

                She shakes her head. “But it makes no sense. You had the way out of there that whole time and yet you remained a prisoner.”

                “I may have left a couple times to make a few visits. But alas, I was meant to be there when the curse broke. And that scroll was meant for you to find.”

                She looks down, her face frowning in thought. “You made this curse, made me the savior. All that I’ve been doing is what you’ve wanted me to do.”

                He laughs and she looks up, startled. “Oh, dearie, I did not _make_ you. I simply took advantage of an opportunity. You are the product of true love, the most powerful magic. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done _yourself_.”

                She covers her stomach, as if protecting Brianna from his gaze. “Cora tried to take my heart. She couldn’t even get through my chest.”

                A smile slowly crosses his face. “Like I said, powerful magic. Amplified by the second. Two products, all in one.”

                She feels her breath hitch and her hand tangles in the worn shoelace on her arm. “So … so we were? Me and … and Graham? We were?”

                He studies her deftly. “I think you already know the answer to that, dearie.”

                She refuses, absolutely refuses, to cry in front of Gold. But her vision is suspiciously cloudy and her nose and throat burn with the want of it. To actually know _for sure_ of what they had …. “That’s … that’s good to know.”

                “She’ll be a powerful thing on her own. Imagine how different she will be if she is raised in love rather than fear?” he asks.

                She glares at him, not amused by his slight on her past. “I love her enough for two parents. Mary Margaret, Henry, and David will do the same.”

                “I have no doubt,” he says, his eyes crinkling in odd amusement. He cocks his head to the side, finger outstretched as he seems overtaken by a thought. His eyes squint further and he grins. “You’ve chosen a name.”

                She looks up in surprise. “How would you even know that?”

                His hands raise, palms up. “Names are what I deal in.”

                Her mouth falls into a straight line. “Maybe I did.”

                “And?” he asks, his fingers tenting. “Let’s hear it. I want to know what this new little magical being will be called.”

                She thinks against it, distrust brewing in her gut as she shakes her head.

                He smiles. “Well, I’ll find out eventually. Not much longer left.”

                She looks away. “I’m going to see Henry. I’m going to shower these past two weeks of forest trekking off my skin. I’m going to eat something other than chimera or squirrel or God knows what. I am going to take a nap with my son and daughter. And then we’ll go on your adventure.”

                “Fine,” he says. “I’ll walk you there.”

                The closer they get, the faster her steps become. She is at a full-out run by the time she sees the storefront, the bell chiming behind her as she tears through the door and towards the back room.

                She barely registers David and Mary Margaret kissing because she sees her son, Henry. He is pushing away a china cup, resting between the wolf and a dark-haired woman as they stare serenely at the scene in front of them.

                Henry. The kid that brought her here and believed in her and _loved_ her despite her faults. And God, did she love him back, so much. For everything he’s done for her, for everything she can do for him, for everything they are to each other. Her child, her son, this kid who is so much braver than she has ever been.

                “Mom!” he cries when he sees her finally, bolting for her. They meet halfway, gripping each other fiercely. Tears fall freely down both their faces.

                “Henry, I love you, I missed you so much,” she sobs, pulling him as close as she can.

                “I missed you all so much! Grandpa and me have been so lonely without you three!” he cries back, one hand on her belly, greeting his sister.

                She grins through her tears, pulling him closer. This is how it’s supposed to be.

                If only she can get those images Aurora stirred up out of her head.

 


	20. David (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: First off, I fail. I forgot to give a major shout out to La Lisboa for helping me edit the fight scene in chapter 19 (also, read I See the Light on FF.net now). Second, this is indeed the last Thursday post for awhile. Monday posts will be as usual, though! 
> 
> This chapter contains spoilers and some dialogue for 2x13 and 2x05.

 

                David shakes his head as he helps Emma pack. Something is off, something other than the fact that the imp is taking away his child and grandson again after they just got their family back. He doesn’t know what. It’s like an itch at the back of his mind, an irritant festering in his brain. It’s nagging, refusing to be ignored but if he puts attention to it, pain is the all-consuming reason to withdraw.

                Everything seems fine. Everything has been amazing ever since Snow’s tea-flavored kiss awoke him, after Emma actually hugged him and said that she had missed having him around. It is suddenly cozy again in the loft. It is warm, filled with laugher and happiness, not the moroseness that had overtaken him and Henry these past weeks. They all ate a huge meal that he had thrown together, Snow jokingly asking him where his sudden cooking skill came from. He had winked at Emma and grinned, proclaiming that Henry couldn’t live off take out alone; he’d had to learn. She had given a small smile of appreciation.

                Still, that something lingers just outside his memories. It’s like he can feel a barrier protecting some of them from his own conscious thoughts. It is disconcerting. He feels like he is forgetting something important.

                He shakes his head as he makes sure to pack Emma’s gun. She will need protection if it will only be her and Henry with the Dark One.

                “Adding to my packing list? I think I have just about enough,” Emma says as she leans on the doorframe.

                He smiles up at her. Her hair is damp and pulled into a topknot, Henry’s sneakers dangling from her fingers by the laces. She is in maternity wear for the first time that he’s seen her and the black and white striped top gently pulls around her stomach, accentuating it. “Just making sure you’re well equipped,” he says.

                She gestures pointedly at the bag. “I don’t think they’ll allow firearms in my carryon, but thanks,” she responds.

                Blushingly, he removes it. “What _can_ you bring?” he asks, still worrying for their safety.

                Emma shrugs. “Gold won’t have his powers. Apparently I always will, times two with this thing,” she says, waving at the bump.

                He chuckles. “This thing?”

                Her face softens. “Brianna. Did Mary Margaret tell you?”

                He nods. “She did. And I am so excited to meet my little granddaughter,” he says with a grin. She glows in her pregnancy, the cliché gorgeously fitting on her. There is still a somberness that makes her loveliness more enigmatic. She presses a hand to her lower back, absently rubbing. He then frowns, worrying again at a trip so late in her pregnancy.

                She picks up on it and offers a smile. “Hey, I’m only at thirty-four weeks and I don’t expect to be gone chasing Gold’s son for another four. We’ll be fine.”

                “Will it be warm or cold where we’re going?” Henry asks as he walks in and flops next to the suitcase on the bed.

                “Best to work in layers. I can’t believe it’s already this cold,” Emma mutters as she sticks another sweater in the bag. She turns to him next. “Got a lighter jacket I can borrow? I only have the one that can still zip and it’s on the heavy side.”

                Somewhere in his fogged mind is a memory. “There was an extra hanging in the office. It’s in the closet by the staircase, now.” Why did he bring it there? He can’t remember.

                Emma pauses, hands halting in their assault of her closet. She swallows and his brow creases as he wonders what he said to cause such a reaction. She nods, once. “Maybe … maybe I’ll use that,” she says and wanders down the stairs.

                He looks to Henry who shrugs. They follow down and find her gingerly removing the coat, wrapping it around her and pressing her nose into the collar.

                “Emma?” Snow calls, joining them in the front room.

                When she pulls back, her eyes are suspiciously bright but she smiles. “I’m fine,” she says, sighing. She puts the jacket on. David frowns when he sees that it also won’t be able to close around the fullness of her middle.

                “Damn, it doesn’t fit you. I’ll go see if I can find something else,” he says, turning to make his way up the stairs. Snow’s hand darts out, catching his sleeve.

                Emma’s shaking her head. “No. Thanks, but this will be perfect,” she says, taking Henry’s arm and pulling him close.

                He’s about to protest because there is no way it will do anything to keep them warm but Snow pulls him close and brings his ear down to her level. “Don’t fight her on this one. I’ll explain later.”

                Rumplestiltskin enters the room and gives a disinterested grimace at the scene. “An interesting choice in outerwear, I must say. Are you glad now that I kept it around?”

                She glares at him, folding her arms. She says nothing and turns to Snow, hugging her. “I’ll miss you,” she says, a sentiment his wife returns wholeheartedly.

                “Are we ready to go, Miss Swan?” the imp asks.

                She nods. “Just about. Go get your bag, Henry,” she says and takes the stairs, heading to her room for her own bag.

                He turns his eyes on Rumplestiltskin. He feels a slight tug; he thinks the man did something to him recently but he can’t for the life of his think of what it is. Instead, he tries to make clear what the man is doing now. “You are taking my daughter and grandchildren out there. My family. Just so you know, if anything happens to them –“

                “What, you’ll cross the town line? Then David Nolan will chase me down in his animal rescue van?” he sneers.

                He shakes his head, looking up the stairs where his family is. “No. I’d be devastated. I’m not threatening here, ‘Stiltskin. I’m worrying, I’m scared. This is a request: take care of them.”

                Something in his face relaxes. “No harm will come to your family from me. And I will work to be sure that no harm will come from outside of me, either. I see great potential in this new family of yours, Charming. I'm not about to be the reason it is wasted.”

                He stares at him warily before Emma, Snow and Henry come back down the stairs. “Be safe,” he says and hugs Emma. It is still awkward, no doubt, but there is also a willingness on her part to let him in. It’s a start.

                He pulls Snow close as he watches Emma and Henry leave until the car is out of sight. He sighs heavily. “Not my favorite moment.”

                Snow shakes her head. “And not exactly what I had in mind for as soon as we got back. Hopefully this trip is short. I want our family together,” she responds.

                He nods in agreement. “What was that all about earlier?”

                “Hmm?” Snow asks. “Oh. The jacket. It was Graham’s. That’s why she wanted it.”

                David feels a sharp pain behind his eye, the beginning of a migraine or something more ominous. He holds his head. There was something about the jacket, something about Graham, and it is just _there_ but he can’t reach it. He groans in pain as he lets it drift away.

                She’s looking at him in concern now. “Charming? Are you okay?”

                He breathes deeply and stumbles back to the couch, eyes drifting shut. “Fine. Just a sudden headache.”

                Snow sits beside him, her warm hands rubbing slow circles on his temples and he moans at the release of tension. “If we’re going to deal with Emma and Henry being gone, I’m going to need you at your best,” she says softly.

                He opens an eye to study her. “Why?” he asks. Do they need to fight for something again? Does she have a plan to protect them?

                Her answering smile is more wicked than he would have guessed. “Because it means I have you all to myself. And when was the last time we could say that?”

                Oh. _Oh_. “Aspirin. Quick,” he says, jumping up and running to the cabinet. He hears her giggle and it only spurns on his speed.

                Later that night, she wraps herself into him. He trails a hand down her back and up again, feeling the familiar smoothness beneath his fingertips. “I’ve missed this.”

                She hums a response and he can feel her grin on his chest. “Me too. Although, it was certainly worth the wait,” she replies.

                He chuckles. “Oh, definitely worth it. Let’s just not wait that long again, okay?”

                She smacks him teasingly against his arm. “I’d be offended if you thought otherwise, Charming,” she says.

                He presses a kiss in her dark hair, missing the way it used to fan out onto his body or curtain them as she kissed above him. Her hair is adorable now, and he is getting used to feeling the soft strands as they frame her face, but he will always remember her long locks. That was the way she looked when their daughter was born, when they were married. It will always hold a place in his heart. “Do you think Emma got in okay?” he asks.

                As if on cue, a buzz sounds from the nightstand. She smiles and turns over, reaching for her cell phone. She turns it on and then brings it so he can see. “She’s in. They’re settling into a hotel for the night,” she replies, pointing out the text message.

                He grimaces. “They’re in the same room?” he asks uncomfortably. He knows Emma has magic, but that just seems weird.

                She is typing rapidly into the phone but smirks at his question. “Please, David. Of course not. She and Henry have they own room. Gold is being generous with his money this once, it seems.”

                He grumbles under his breath about not trusting him but her smile only widens. “Are they okay?”

                She smiles at him gently. “They’re fine. darling. Emma is a smart, capable woman. And you have no idea how capable,” she says, laughing lightly.

                He pulls her close with one arm, letting her fit into the side of his body. She shifts and twists until they are perfectly aligned. “Tell me,” he urges.

                She grabs his hand and plays absently with his fingers. “Well, we had just gotten to the Enchanted Forest. We were taken prisoner ….”

                He gapes as she tells her story, about all that happened in their time away. He isn’t sure his fears are quelled by the end of it, but at least he has a better understanding. “Well, I am glad my girls are so capable.”

                “Women,” Snow corrects, lips brushing against the skin of his neck.

                “Women,” he agrees, pulling her half on top of him. “Do you ever think … maybe, about having more?”

                She leans up, looking down on his face. “More?”

                He hesitates. “Nothing will replace the years with Emma. But do you ever think about rounding out our family a little more?”

                Snow’s eyes close as she rests on his chest again. “Maybe. But let’s wait until our granddaughter is sleeping through the night before we think about giving her some aunts or uncles.”

                He chuckles, remembering how twisted their family tree is now. “Sounds fair,” he responds, letting his arm rest on the small of her back as they drift to sleep.

                When he wakes in the grey dawn of morning, he smiles. He can hear Snow in the kitchen, humming as dishes clattered when they were set in cupboards. He’s missed these moments. He rises and stretches, feeling the familiar pull in his muscles from the times they had awoken during the night. He throws on some clothing, pattering down the staircase sleepily before reaching her and snaking an arm around her waist.

                “I love you,” he says simply, kissing her temple from behind.

                “I love you, too,” she replies, a smile in her voice. She turns in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips forcefully. He draws her closer and the doorbell rings.

                “Damn,” he says, pulling away regretfully. She’s grinning, happiness radiating from her entire being. He’ll need to get rid of whoever that is and quick.

                He jogs to the entry and opens the door to see Victor. He snarls before reaching back and punching him in the nose.

                "What the hell, it’s already broken!” he yells, folding in half and cursing thickly.

                “That was for sleeping with my wife,” he glowers.

                He looks up in confusion. “Katherine?”

                He rolls his eyes, arms folding. “Snow.”

                Understanding dawns on his face as he holds his bloody nose. “Well, we were cursed. It’s not like I knew,” he grumbles, using his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose and wincing as the cartilage shifts back in place. “I had almost had this fixed,” he mutters.

                He can feel Snow sneaking behind him, staying out of sight but silently supporting. “I imagine you have a lot of people gunning after you,” he says, now noticing that his nose had been taped and he has twin black eyes.

                “Your friend’s right hook is a little better than yours, but I didn’t exactly wish to have first-hand knowledge of that,” he grumbles. He juts his chin toward the car. “He’s back there, but he’s a little drugged out right now. I could use the help.”

                He steps outside, trying to squint to see through the windows of the sedan. “Who?” he asks.

                Whale looks at him oddly. “I’d have thought Rumplestiltskin would have prepared you for his arrival this morning. Or have you simply thought he was missing?” he asks. Then he shakes his head. “No matter, he’s back, he’s in one piece, and I still have no idea how he’s alive in the first place but my time is up.”

                David is even more confused now, stumbling out to the car. A figure is indeed hastily shoved into the backseat, passed out. His brow furrows as the side door opens and Whale grabs onto his legs.

                “Well, are you going to help or what?” he asks grumpily.

                His mouth opens and then shuts dramatically. “That’s impossible! That’s … that’s Graham!” he exclaims.

                Snow rushes out at his outburst. “What? It can’t be!” she cries.

                The three conscious adults look between each other awkwardly before focusing again on the unconscious man. “Have you forgotten that the two of you suddenly became buddies over the last couple weeks?” Whale asks, irritated.

                Suddenly, something shifts in his brain and the barriers he felt before fall away. ‘Stiltskin. There is no other explanation. He growls. “Now I do. I guess the Dark One decided to play with my memories,” he grinds out.

                Whale’s eyebrow rises in indifference. “That’s fascinating, really. Now can I have a little help?”

                “What the hell did you do to him?” he shouts, his anger rising as he thinks of all the trickery that must have gone into this.

                “It’s just a little general anesthesia. He’ll be up and about in an hour. The Dark One asked my help to keep him occupied for a while, I got some time to get in a few experiments. No harm, no foul.”

                His hands itch to punch him again but he curbs the impulse. “Why would he do that?”

                He shrugs. “He said he needed a favor of your daughter.”

                “Emma,” Snow breathes. He’s startled. He hadn’t realized that she had come forward. She is kneeling beside Graham, looking at him in shocked awe. “She would have never left if she knew he was alive.”

                The two men lock eyes and nod in silent agreement. Together, they bring Graham in and set him on the couch. Victor pinches his nose again, wincing as tears squeeze from his eyes. “Good luck,” he says finally, a sharp nod at them both.

                Snow is smiling, shaking her head slightly. “I should have known that death wouldn’t stop true love,” she says, pressing the back of her hand to Graham’s head, concern etched on her features.

                David grimaces, sitting in the seat to the side of the couch. “He’s been alive since the curse broke. He showed up the night you two fell through the hat in the clothes he was buried in. He’s been staying with Henry and me, helping us. But I haven’t told him about Emma … about Brianna.”

                Snow’s brow creases. “Why?” she asks. She is staring at him in earnest. He wonders what Emma has told her about their relationship but doesn’t press. Graham had been pretty tight-lipped about it and David didn’t really want to hear about it, so in the end he doesn’t really know much beyond true love and Brianna.

                He sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. “He had only been back a few minutes and was ready to die to get Emma back here. I couldn’t put the added pressure on him.”

                Snow nods, though her eyes still seem sad. “He’ll probably be upset with you when I tell him. Emma likely will be, too,” she warns gently.

                David shakes his head and entwines their fingers. “At this point … let’s let Emma tell him. I think she would prefer that. And I think he would, too. She shouldn’t be gone too long, a couple days at most, and I think it’ll be for the best.”

                Snow sighs, pulling a hand through the man’s hair. His breathing is steady, even, and heavy and his eyes twitch behind the lids. “We probably should tell her, though.” She pauses, closing her eyes and frowning. “She’s going to fight tooth and nail to come back.”

                He shakes his head. “It’s up to you.”

                She grimaces, rising and walking into the kitchen, resting her elbows on the countertop and fisting her hands in her short hair. “She’s already there and finishing the deal with Rumplestiltskin. What if she wants to come back immediately?”

                He frowns. “No. You know how he is. He wouldn’t let her return until the deal is done. Or else he might make her chose a different deal, a _worse_ deal. She needs to get this done.”

                She bites her lip. “But if we don’t tell her, she’ll be shocked. She’ll be so angry with us.”

                David shakes his head finally. “We’re forgetting something.”

                Snow looks up. “What?” she asks, palms resisting on the counter, the fight still in her eyes.

                He smiles gently. “Graham. It should be his decision whether or not to tell her.”

                She sighs, her eyes dark. “Then shouldn’t Brianna be Emma’s?”

                He frowns. “It would be a nice idea,” he says but shakes his head. “But I don’t think he’d want to hear it from us. I don’t think he’d believe it until she was here and vice versa.”

                She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “We’re playing with secrets we shouldn’t be, David,” she responds.

                He nods, aware that his wife hated secrets that were so monumental. “But I’ve already been keeping this secret with everyone in this town who knows. I made that decision when he walked in here. Let’s let them find out on their own.”

                Snow winces again. “You need to take the blame for this, Charming,” she warns harshly. There is worry in her voice, quivering. She knows she will be taking a share when it comes out. But David thinks this will be for the best. It will be worth it if their happiness will be intact, if they are able to focus on the task at hand and then finally come together.

                “It’ll work out just fine,” he insists. He hopes.

 


	21. Neal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’ll be missing my Thursday updates as well, but am excited to have you read some of these chapters. This one’s in a new POV, and includes spoilers and dialogue from 2x14.

 

                Neal darts down the street, his feet slamming against the pavement as he ducks through alleyways and down city blocks. He has no clue who is following him at this point, but since it has been a day and a half since his bookie told him he owed another grand, he’s not taking any chances.

                He slides on an oil slick, groaning as he falls on his hip. He’s not in his twenties anymore and running isn’t something he’s done, actively, in a couple months. He can hear footsteps catching up with him and struggles to his feet.

                “Can you stop running, I’m pregnant, here!” the voice calls in a heavy pant, He slows to a stop. He knows that voice.

                He turns, catching his pursuer’s green-blue gaze. “Emma?” he asks, a smile creeping its way across his face.

                Her eyes widen, shock filling them. “Neal?” She is not as happy to see him.

                She looks almost the same. Her statement wasn’t a tactic, though, and her frame rounds around her middle in an extravagant show. Her hair is just as long and blonde, though it falls down her shoulders instead of its typical ponytail. She doesn’t wear her dark framed glasses, and her face is rounder in a healthy way. She looks lovely. He shakes out a laugh, confusion permeating him. The curse was broken, right? He learned that weeks ago. So why wasn’t she with her family? “I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

                She shakes her head and he can see the confusion melt into fury. “No! No, you don’t get to ask the questions, here! I do! I’m not answering anything until I get the truth!” she demands.

                He holds up his hands, palms out. “The truth, what truth?”

                Her whole body is shaking. “Are you Gold’s son?” she asks, the statement crackling with anger.

                His face scrunches in confusion. “Gold? What are you talking about? Who’s Gold?”

                She is panting now, hands balling into fists. “You played me. Gold played me. You’re from over there and you _both_ played me!”

                He eyes her worriedly, coming forward a pace. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, okay. Slow down. What are you talking about? Who’s Gold?”

                She shakes her head, face flushing with anger. “Your father,” she spits. “Rumplestiltskin.”

                He feels dread fall to the bottom of his stomach. His father? “You brought him here?” he demands angrily.

                She pushes him back forcefully, and he stumbles before regaining his footing. “No! You don’t get to be mad, here! I am the _only_ one allowed to be angry! Did you know who I was, where I was from this whole time! Did you even care about me?” she screams.

                He winces. “Emma, don’t—“

                “No! No, I want to hear all of it! I want all the _truth_!” she screams.

                His mind is whirling, and the sudden need for alcohol is his all-consuming requisite. He breathes in deep. “Fine. Let’s get off the street. There’s a bar down the block.”

                Her mouth falls open in disbelief. “Are you an _idiot_? I’m not going to a bar with you! I’m pregnant! Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell me right here!”

                He sniffs, lip half-pursing in disagreement. “Nah. Bar’s better. There’s water, too, and you can keep yelling at me once we get there,” he replies and begins walking in that direction.

                He can hear her huff, but then her steps sound behind him, heels stomping angrily before she meets his side. “You’re an asshole,” she swears, pulling her coat around her against the cold.

                “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, catching sight of the neon bar sign at the corner. He opens the door to the familiar tavern and holds it for her. She glares at him a moment and then passes inside, punching him in the arm for good measure.

                He groans but smiles, noting that she hasn’t changed much in personality, either. She has walked over to the bar and is sitting on the stool. She shrugs off her scarf and pulls open the leather jacket some, exposing her belly even more. He can see now just how heavily pregnant she is. He gives a wry smile, somewhat pleased that she has found her Tallahassee. But as he sits across from her as she fiddles with one of the coasters, he finds that her left hand is noticeably empty.

                He gestures to it. “I thought if you would have ever done it, you would have done it right,” he comments.

                She looks down at her hand, then to her belly, and then meets his eye with a glare that could melt the skin right off his bones. He recoils. “Don’t you dare assume anything about my life or my choices. How about we talk about yours instead, _Baelfire_?”

                He sighs.  “God, hormones. Forgot.”

                She glares at him. “Don’t you try to make my righteous anger into being about my being pregnant. Don’t you _dare_.”

                His lips press together, trying not to laugh at the heat in her gaze. “What do you want to know?” The bartender comes over, and he nods. Todd knows his usual. He turns to Emma next, eyes flicking down to her belly. She scowls.

                “Club soda,” she mutters. When Todd sets their drinks in front of them, she turns on him again. Her eyes are stormy. “Did you know who I was when we met?”

                He takes a long swig of the malty microbrew and sets it down carefully. “If I did, I wouldn’t have gone near you,” he replies bluntly.

                She looks dubious. “So, what, it just so happens that you’re Rumplestiltskin’s son and I’m Snow White’s daughter? Come _on_.”

                He fumes. “Come on? Come on, what? Believe me, I have been trying to avoid all this crap ever since I came to this world.”

                Her mouth sets into a firm line and she begins to shred a bar napkin between her fingers. “So, you were using me. You needed someone to set up to take the fall for the watches you stole.”

                He shakes his head. “I wasn’t using you. I didn’t know who you were until someone told me. I found out and got the hell out of dodge,” he said.

                She inhales sharply. “Someone told you? And you decided to cut your losses and run?”

                He cringes, uncomfortable at his word choice. “I didn’t mean it like that. He said you were meant for greater things, things involving magic, and I was getting in the way of that. I believed him.”

                “Who?” she asks plainly.

                “Your friend, August.”

                Her jaw sets and her hands make their way to her middle. “August. _Really_. You let me go to prison because _Pinocchio_ told you to?”

                He shrugs. He is aware that she has trust issues and hates that he might be adding to them with this piece of information. “Sorry. He the father?”

                She looks at him in bewilderment. “What? No! God, you’re an idiot,” she says, flinging the shreds of napkin away from her. She laughs bitterly. “I loved you, you know that? I was stupid and young, but it was a type of love and I trusted you with it. And then I get sent to jail for you, never hear from you again. If that’s not the definition of using a person, I don’t know what is.”

                He sighs, gesturing to her. “I just … I was … I was trying to help you.”

                She scoffs. “Help me? By letting me go to jail?”

                He shakes his head and takes another swig of his drink, gulping loudly. “By letting you make your way back home, breaking the curse. You have your parents there, right? And they’re good people.”

                She shakes her head, looking away. “Whether or not I like being around my parents, whether or not I am glad I am pregnant, and whether or not I ended up breaking a curse has _nothing_ to do with you sending me to jail ten years before it was supposed to happen! Do you understand what I had to go through? What I lost because of it?”

                He shrugs and slumps forward, face falling into his glass again. “No,” he squeaks out. She is scary, all pregnant and hormonal.

                She slams a fist into the bar and presses another against her mouth. Tears are swimming in her eyes, ones he knows she will not let escape. “What are you even trying to say? That us meeting was a coincidence? How in the hell could that be? If it wasn’t your plan or your father’s?”

                He lets out a breath. “Well, think about it. He wanted you to break the curse. Maybe us being together would have prevented that. Maybe … maybe it was fate.”

                She looks down, obviously considering it as her hand rests on her stomach. She looks up, unfocused on the room in front of her. “You believe in that?” she asks, her voice hollow.

                He nods dimly. “You know, there’s not a ton about my father that I remember that doesn’t suck. But he used to tell me that there are no coincidences. Everything that happens, happens by design, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Forces greater than us conspire to make it happen. Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. The point is … maybe we met for a reason. Maybe something good came from us being together.”

                She lets out a low breath and shakes her head solemnly. “Not that I can think of. I just went to jail. That’s all.”

                “Sorry, then,” he grumbles out.

                She pushes the glass away. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m over it. And you.”

                Her voice is wooden, and he tries to hide his grin as she leans forward and a familiar swan falls out of the front of her shirt. “Why do you still wear the, uh, keychain I got you, then?”

                She grasps it, and he sucks in a breath at how vulnerable she looks. Finally, she tugs and the chain falls into her open palm. “To remind me never to trust someone again,” she responds callously as she glares at him. She lets it fall onto the counter beside him. Her eyes soften just a bit as she looks at it. “I took it off once.”

                He thinks she’s speaking more metaphorically in this case and he considers her enlarged frame again. “At least there’s that.” He gestures to her belly. “Would he exist if we had stayed together?”

                She looks pained. “She. And we were never going to be forever, Neal. But that doesn’t excuse you being a coward for leaving when I needed you most,” she replies curtly, the words cutting him deeply. He isn’t the coward; that is his father. She shakes her head, moving on. “And yes, I probably would have still had her. I was destined to break the curse and I would have regardless. And in doing that, I still would have still found him. We were true love.”

                He scoffs, thinking of the pirate who claimed his mom left him, her son, her light, for their love, and feels certain bitterness surface at the thought. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

                “Well, your father was the one to say we were, so …,” she says with a tight smile.

“Good for you, then.” Then, he thinks more about what she said. “’Were?’”

                Her lips set in a firm line, and she doesn’t answer his implied question. “Enough of this. I made a deal with your dad, so let’s go back and honor it.”

                Horror draws him up. “You made a deal with him?”

                She nods, pulling her scarf back on and placing some bills of the counter for her drink. “I told him that I’d bring you to him. And I’m upholding my end. Let’s get going.”

                He shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

                She levels him with a glare. “I’m asking you to man up and see your father so I can get the hell away from you and go home to my family.”

                “Don’t you get it? Magic _destroyed_ my family. He abandoned me for it. _Everything_ I’ve had to go through has been because of it.”

                She laughs, and it is full of irony. “You’re so damn self-centered, Neal. Nothing has changed there. Everything that’s happened to you, huh? Not everything you’ve done to others? Done to yourself? You make your own decisions. You made your bed.”

                He sneers. “Like you’re some perfect angel.”

                She huffs. “I’m not. But I took responsibility for myself. I got on my feet and I worked hard to become a better person. And I still work on it every day because that’s what it _means_ to be a responsible adult. You’re seven years … well, seven plus however many extra years, older than me and you’re still a child. Grow up.”

                His voice cracks. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

                Her hands go to her temples, rubbing slowly. “I need to bring you to him.”

                “No, no you don’t. You know that, don’t you? You don’t have to.”

                She breathes, staring at the door. “I know.”

                He backs up. “You can say you lost me. Tell him you can’t find me. Then you’ll never have to deal with me again and you can go back to your family. Please, Emma.”

                She grimaces and finally nods.

                “Thank you,” he breathes, and darts out the door, away from her and their old issues.

                He finds himself at his second favorite bar and collapses into a back booth eagerly. He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the strands of hair. Her accusation of his cowardice really did pull at his gut. His father had been known for that, was called a coward like his father before him. Was he really turning into him? Was this some terrible legacy? Or was he instead turning into his mother, the woman who was always trying to get what she wanted, no matter the cost?

                Debbie, one of the waitresses, comes toward him and asks him what he wants. “Nothing, thanks. I’m just gonna … gonna go.”

                He walks toward his apartment with great reluctance. He knows who will be waiting for him. As he ascends the stairs, his body becomes weighty. Fear creeps into him but he approaches the door, wishing he had had that second drink.

                “You don’t have magic here,” he hears Emma say.

                The answering voice is so familiar that it shocks him cold. “I don’t _need_ magic here.”

                “Look, Gold, I have double the magic right now, so don’t do this.”

                “Do not push me,” he glowers, and Neal can feel the threat through the walls.

                “Don’t push _me_ ,” Emma answers, as haughty as ever.

                 “We had a deal! And no one breaks a deal with me!” he screams and something knocks over.

                The panic is driving him forward, memories of his father’s temper at the forefront of his mind. He pushes the door open and bursts in on the two. “Hey! Leave her alone!”

                His father looks like he used to. No scaly, glittery skin. No magic swirling around him with a touch of madness. He looks human. He looks normal. He looks like Papa. It kills him slightly to see it.  “Bae … you came back to me,” he says in awe, voice cracking ever so slightly.

                He shakes his head, steadying himself with his memories. “No, I came back to make sure you don’t hurt her. I’ve seen what you do to people who break you deals,” he replies coolly.

                The older man’s gaze flicks to Emma. “I wouldn’t have done any such thing. The girl is too important,” he replies simply. He wonders if his father is talking about Emma or the child she carries. His father turns dark, pleading eyes to him. “Please, just let me talk.”

                “I have no interest in talking to you,” he replies harshly, feeling the years of injustice win over his delight at seeing his powerless father. “Get out of my apartment!” he shouts.

                Emma steps forward, “Neal ….”

                His mouth sets. “Emma, I got this.”

                His father’s eyes narrow, and he waves a finger between the two of them. “You two know each other.” His brow creases. “You two know each other! How?” he demands.

                “You sent me chasing after him,” Emma declares misleadingly.

                “No,” his father says, sensing the lie and Neal glimpses a little of the monster that he had left. “No, no, stop it! Stop lying! How do you two know each other?”

                “Mom?” a timid voice calls. He half turns and sees a young boy. He freezes, noting the dark straight hair, soft dark eyes. “Wh-what’s going on?”

                Emma’s jaw sets even as her eyes show her fear. “Henry, hey ….”

                Neal backs up and his eyes widen. “Who’s this?” he demands, certainty climbing up his spine but he _needs to know_.

                “My son,” Emma says simply, grasping the boy’s arm and pulling him into her embrace.

                “What?” he asks, his mouth drying.

                The boy looks up. “Is that Baelfire?” he asks excitedly, beaming up at him.

                Emma redirects him, smiling softly. “I need you to go into the bathroom for a little while longer, okay?”

                “Wait!” Neal shouts. He needs to know. He needs to know for sure, but, oh God, _those_ _eyes_. “How old are you, kid?”

                She is leading the boy away and her face falls. “Don’t answer that,” she says.

                Neal feels his temper rise. She can’t do this, she can’t keep this from him; he _deserves_ to know. “How old are you?”

                The boy’s face scrunches. “Eleven! Why is everyone yelling?”

                His breath leaves him in one long whoosh. He is deflated and he looks at Emma with accusation. “He’s eleven?”

                The boy turns into Emma’s embrace, catching on that something is up. He looks up at her worriedly. “Mom?”

                “Is he mine?” he demands.

                Emma’s face is slack, frozen.

                “No,” the boy states in a whimper, looking up at Emma with desperation this time, his hand curling in Emma’s, the other resting on her stomach. “No, my dad was a fireman. He died. You told me that. Mom …?”

                “Is this my _son_?” he asks again, his voice catching on the phrase.

                Emma closes her eyes. When she opens them, she is smiling seriously at her son, brushing back his hair apologetically and looking only at him. “Yes,” she states softly.

                His heart breaks and his stomach drops to the floor. Tears obscure his vision and he holds steepled hands in front of his mouth. Distantly, he can hear someone clatter onto the fire escape and someone else join. He blinks back tears, the knowledge tearing into him. What has he lost? All because of some puppet! He darts forward to exit the window but his father’s hands on him stop his movements.

                “Bae,” he breathes, eyes desperate. “All I want is a chance to be heard.”

                He paces in frustration. “After all this, the last thing I want to do is talk to you,” he grinds out.

                “Look, you wanted to make sure Emma held up her bargain. And her bargain was getting you to talk to me,” he states.

                He pulls a hand through his hair and finally whips around. “Three minutes.”

 

 

 


	22. Regina (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I really am shocked at all the love I’m getting. Thank you all so much!!   
> This chapter contains some spoilers and dialogue from 2x12 and 2x13. I apologize that it’s so short, but we’re building toward some major events right now.

                Regina pulls a hand through her dark hair, feeling her ire rise with each intake of breath.

                She failed.

                Regina had awoken to a grey evening, trees straining into the foreboding sky. The crunch of foliage was beneath her, and her head was pounding.

                ‘ _Stiltskin_. She should have known better than to trust him. They had just created the barrier together, and then he turned his magic into her. The force had shocked her; her insides had felt electrocuted and frayed. She had passed out from the pain. She wondered bitterly if he had tried to kill her and failed.

                Later, she realized that it couldn’t be the case. Rumplestiltskin always had and will have an ulterior motive. If he had wanted her dead, she would have been dust mingling with the mud beneath her.

                He wanted her to lose but to live to see her failure. And she did lose; exceedingly.

                She skulks around the town, hiding beneath facades. It is evening, and she has found that both Emma and Henry are gone, past the town line. Charming is awake, Graham is still alive, and Snow White is happy with her prince and ever-burgeoning family.

                She is at the end of her rope. She wants to tear out every hair in her head, shoot fire from her fingertips, and burn the entire town off the map. Pain is all-consuming, the need for revenge even greater than before.

                She is in the crypt, plotting all the while. She still has her magic. Her potions are available to her. All is not lost. She just isn’t sure where to start, especially since Henry is not within reach. Since she wasn’t cursed, she isn’t quite sure what would happen if she crossed the town line, but she isn’t willing to risk it. She needs her magic _and_ her memories. Both fuel her hate and her quest.

                Bottles are discarded, books hastily skimmed, and she absently glances toward the drawers on the far corner more than once. She is rummaging through some of her mother’s relics when she hears heel clicks along the stone. Her head snaps up and her blood runs cold, her mouth dropping open as she sees a dark gaze so similar to her own. Her mother. _Cora_.

                “You … I thought they’d stopped you! No … you can’t be here!” she cries out in alarm. Her fingers tighten over the vial she found, unsure of its power but taking refuge in its magic.

                A smile crosses her mother’s face, so eerily familiar to the one she wore in her supposed death. “I had to see you. Oh, darling, I know why you sent me through the portal. I know why you tried to have me killed. But, it’s okay. I forgive you, my dear,” she coos.

                Regina looks at her, incredulous. Those memories she cherished are now invading her with memories of what this woman has done to her. “I don’t understand. How is this …? This is _not_ okay!”

                Cora smiles indulgently. “The pirate you hired has helped me over the years. We’ve become traveling companions. While we were in the Enchanted Forest, he helped me undermine Snow White and her daughter.” She steps forward. “I know that you need your son back. We are willing to help you with that. It’s my way of saying that I love you, darling. That I’ve always loved you. I just haven’t found the right way to say it.”

                Her heart twists. The memory of Daniel, dying for a second time, is still painfully fresh in her memory. Two weeks. Two weeks and forty-three years. “How would you be able to help me win Henry back? You have never cared about anything I love!”

                Cora looks pained, reaching forward tentatively to touch her shoulders. The sudden grip numbs her, the cold sensation growing and filling her core. Her mother’s eyes are soft, regretful. “I would do anything for you, sweetheart. Seeing you cry over me, when you thought I was dead … it changed everything.”

                Regina twists around, her eyes filling with tears. This can’t possibly be happening. Her mother has never been this receptive without more evil intentions. “Why? Why would it change _anything_?”

                She sighs. “Don’t you see? Everything I ever did was for you. Sometimes I didn’t realize that it wasn’t what you wanted. Like with the King … I should have never made you marry him. I’m trying to make up for that now, by helping you get Henry. I am so sorry.”

                She looks up at her, her brow furrowing. “No. You were always like this. You always pretend everything is fine and then do something to ruin my life.”

                Cora pulls something from her skirts. It is a mold, childlike and inexpensively made. A hand is clearly imprinted, its size betraying the youth of its maker. In messy, amateur scribbling of an unsteady hand, “for mommy” is clearly marked. Her breath leaves her lungs, stinging through her. She had been mommy. Long ago, she had been the _only_ mommy.

                “You were in my house?” she asks numbly.

                Her mother smiles sympathetically. “’For mommy.’ That used to be you,” she says.

                She doesn’t want to let her mother’s manipulative tactics get to her, but this one is a straight punch to the gut. Expertly found, expertly exacted. “It’s one of my most treasured possessions,” she breathes truthfully. She remembers Henry’s grin when he presented it one Christmas, teeth endearingly missing from the front and his tongue in its space, telling her he loves her.

                Cora looks at it sadly. “Even if you try to be good, with Emma and Snow around he won’t be _yours_. And with this new child the Savior is carrying? You will never again be his mommy, not in the way you were when he made this. You’ll be regaled to second, third, fourth, fiftieth place until you are just some person who used to feed and clothe him.”

                She thinks about that, hiding her face from her mother’s sympathy. The child that Henry already loves so much … it will pull focus. How could she begin to compete with a sibling of blood relation?

                Her mother’s hand tentatively touches her shoulder. “If you want him back, you need to fight now. And fight hard.”

                “I want him back,” she murmurs, feeling the truth of her words stab her insides with detailed precision.

                “And I just want my daughter back. I meant everything I said: I _am_ sorry and I do want to make it up to you. I can do better. Let me into your heart, and we can get him back.”

                She feels dazed, wondering if this could possibly be true. Her mother is attempting to hand her everything she’s ever wanted on a silver platter. She would have the love of her family, her mother and her son _both_. She wants to remember the evil her mother exacts, the pain she has suffered because of it. But all she can picture is Henry, wrapping his arms around her, beaming at her. “How?”

                She smirks. “Oh, I have a few thoughts.”

                “Oh?” she asks. She isn’t entirely sure she trusts her mother, but at this point she will do anything to get her son back.

                “First, we’ll have to get rid of Rumplestiltskin. He could get in the way of everything.” She grips her arm, leading her away from the crypt. As they walk towards the forest, she cups her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Hook?”

                The pirate emerges from the edge of the woods, grinning wide as he sees the two together. “Regina, lass. It is good to see you.”

                Her eyes narrow to see the cocky swagger. He is just as she remembers: all arrogance and no substance, black leather and kohl covering sticky fingers and shifty eyes. “You betrayed me, Hook. You were supposed to kill her, not join her.”

                His smile widens. “I didn’t want to deprive you of this joyous reunion. Mother and daughter, reunited at last. Tell me, what are your feelings now that you know she will help you gain your happy ending?”

                Her eyes shift from one to the other. “I’m dubious.”

                He laughs. “Well, of course you are, love! I’d be shocked if you didn’t. We all have our needs, though, our little motivations. We’ll get out of this with all of them fulfilled.”

                “Enough,” Cora says, coming forward. “We will need your help and, luckily, the task will be one you will enjoy.”

                “Oh?” he says, eyeing Regina instead.

                She pulls herself into a better posture. “She wants to be rid of Rumplestiltskin, to begin with,” Regina remarks, realizing what her mother wishes to have the pirate undertake.

                She can’t help but feel that her mother’s first act would indeed be the best course of action. ‘Stiltskin has been working to help the Charmings instead of hindering them this whole time. He has worked against her at every level, even when he claimed to be working with her. He betrayed her. If she is to get Henry to herself, she’ll need the imp out of her way.

                Killian’s eyes darken as his pupils dilate. “You are tasking me with killing the Crocodile? My ladies, you are giving me quite the prize for my first undertaking.”

                Cora purses her lips. “I don’t know that it will be your first task, my dear pirate,” she purrs. She turns to Regina. “Anything else he can do to help, my dear?”

                Regina considers the pirate and shakes her head. “You are not a man of your word, now are you?” she sighs. She cannot consider anything else. She needs the Dark One gone and the best chance is now, while he is powerless. “Yes, this must be your first task. But have no doubt that we will kill you if you do not come back to help us finish the job,” she finally snarls.

                He bows. “At your service, my liege,” he declares.

                She twists her hands. “Now is the best time, while he is without his magic. You must go to New York City and destroy him. Then, you will have more tasks at hand. Then, I think I will give you the chance to kill another.”

                “Another?” he asks.

                She nods, the idea solidifying in her mind, lips curling into a pleased smile. “Another.”

                Cora pulls his hook from his limb, grinning. He eyes her darkly, in annoyance more than actual threat.

                “I’d like to have that back, my dear Queen of Hearts,” he says simply.

                She scoffs and lets the hook fall into a liquid potion. “Poison strong enough for the Dark One. Keep it safe and away from anyone that is not your enemy,” she says. She smiles as it bubbles over the metal, causing it to gleam in the moon’s light. “He will suffer greatly. It will take him days to die, and the pain will make him wish his death came sooner.”

                He takes it from her gingerly and Regina can’t take her eyes away from it. “How is it that this potion has never been found before?” she asks.

                Cora looks at her. “It will only take effect on the Dark One’s magic when he is powerless. When he is at full power, only the dagger will kill him. Even without it, he needs a special brew, one steeped in Neverland magic.” She turns dark eyes to her, seriousness permeating them. “Even for all our magic, my dear, the poison would take effect, if put in the wrong hands.”

                “So it must be kept safe,” she says.

                Cora shakes her head. “It is only enough for one. Once he uses it on Rumplestiltskin it will be useless.”

                “And if The Savior stops him?” she asks.

                She tosses a bag to the pirate which he catches in his hand. “A particular sort of magic dust that will stop this Savior in her tracks and leave her with a less magic of her own when we have to deal with her again.”

                “And what will this do?” he asks.

                Cora smirks. “I am aware of your divided loyalties. But have no worry,” she says, before explaining what the potion will enact. The pirate stares at her a moment before determining its truth. Regina must say it is a rather ingenious plan. It will indeed stop her in her tracks, preserving both her and the child’s magic. Things they can use later. Oh, to get ahold of that child’s pure magic … that will be something to consider.

                “I will have my revenge,” he murmurs, sighing as he considers the sharp metal. “I have waited too long to avenge Milah.”

                That reminds her. “He took her heart and crushed it.”

                He looks at her oddly. “How did you know that?”

                She tosses her hair back casually. “My son has a book of fairytales. It’s locked away in the library for now with Rumplestiltskin’s mistress, but it actually contains our tales. Your exploits are well catalogued, pirate,” she says.

                He smirks. “Well, I aim to please.”

                She ignores his words, focusing back on her statement. “Milah’s heart turned to dust and she will never again be alive, you will never again see her face. Which brings me to your second target.”

                She pulls him forward. The three disappear in a cloud of smoke and reappear across from the Charming residence. Her mother waves a hand and they are invisible to the world.

                “A clever trick, my daughter. You have learned well,” her mother mutters.

                She spares her a glance and then juts a chin toward the home as they approach the window. “There, the man with the dark hair and beard. The Huntsman. You will destroy him for all the pain his existence causes me,” she says, feeling the bitterness emerge again.

                Graham passes the window, handing Snow White a pitcher of some drink. They are smiling, and somewhere she knows they are learning how to be a family. Regina’s whole face crumples as she sees the man again.

                This is supposed to be _her_ happy ending, not theirs.

                “May I ask your reasoning?” he says, cocking his head to the side.

                Cora scoffs. “Dare you question your orders, Hook?”

                He raises a brow and turns to the women with what she supposes is a dashing smile. “I only want to know all the details before I go pursuing another victim.”

                Regina growls, anger brewing once again as she recalls the injustice of it all. “He is Miss Swan’s true love. She doesn’t deserve him,” she says bluntly.

                His eyes narrow. “The Savior is quite the liar, then. I was to believe he was already long for this earth, and by your hand,” he sneers. She is not sure if he is accusing her or Swan for the lies, despite his words.

                She huffs. “He came back and no one knows why or how. It’s not fair. I want him dead again. But Henry must never know that I orchestrated it once more.”

                He nods sharply. “Miss Swan is most unlucky in that regard, then.” He stares at Graham for a long, uneasy moment. “An easy task,” he murmurs.

                “Why is that?” her mother asks flatly. Regina won’t admit that she is questioning the same thing. He is suddenly eager at the sight of his future target.

                “I’ve only seen one other man with eyes in that bruised blue color and I hated him with all my being,” he replies sharply. “It will be simple to transfer my anger.”

                “Such similarity sparks quite the outrage. Someone other than your Crocodile inspires this?” Cora asks.

                He sneers. “Yes, my queens. The one man I never had the chance to focus my rage on: my father.”


	23. Henry (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you for the support!! And thanks to my beta, La Lisboa. Read her excellent Gremma AU on FF.net, "I See The Light."
> 
> This chapter contains some dialogue and spoilers from 2x14 and 2x15.
> 
> POSTING UPDATE: Next week, I will be posting on Wednesday, the 11th. It’ll have been 2 years since 1x07. Once you get to the end of this chapter, you’ll see why I find posting 24 on that day vaguely poetic. Then, a usual Monday update on the 16th, followed by a special update on the 20th in light of Diddykongfan’s birthday. There may be a slight hiatus during the holidays, but I’ll keep you updated on that.

 

                Henry sniffs, hands clutching the cold bars of the fire escape, searching the cityscape as if it could provide answers. It is cold and the air clings with a dampness that makes it even worse. Sirens sound off in the distance, which he thinks is fitting. He feels out of sorts in the worst way.

                Emma struggles outside, his sister a hindrance to the narrow window exit. She approaches him cautiously.

                “So, that’s him,” he states hollowly.

                She nods, a frown pulling her lips. Her head tilts a little and he can see the fear building behind her eyes. “Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing the rails on either side of her.

                His stomach rolls a little and he curls into himself. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                Her lip twitches. “’Cause I never thought I’d see him again. I never wanted to,” she admits.

                He looks up at her curiously as she shifts from side to side. “Why?”

                She winces, searching for the right words. “He was a thief, Henry. A liar. A bad guy … he … he broke my heart,” she says softly.

                He studies her. She is trying hard to meet his eye whenever she speaks, but there is something that makes her glance away every couple words, a pain that she isn’t willing to acknowledge. He knows this is hard for her, but it’s hard for him, too. “I could have taken it, you know. The truth,” he declares sullenly.

                She nods, her eyes teary. “I know. I’m sorry. He is a part of my life I wanted to forget. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I was thinking of me, not you.”

                His face pulls at the thought. “I thought you were different.”

                She looks up, her eyes sad. “Different?”

                “Than Regina. She did that to me all the time. Lied to me,” he spits out. He remembers all the times his other mom would lie seamlessly, hiding things from him that he should have known. Emma may not have made him think he was crazy, but she was still trying to mess with how he thought.

                “I’m so sorry, Henry,” she asserts, a hiccup falling in the middle of it. He can hear the sincerity, but that had never stopped his other mom from continuing to lie.

                He’s hurt, so desperately hurt. He thought he found someone who would bring truth to light, not try to bury more secrets. She the Savior, she’s not supposed to be a liar, too. He had been okay with his father being the dead hero, just like Graham was, something he could share with his sister. “Are you going to do that with Brianna, too?” he asks suddenly.

                She looks up, brow furrowing. “Of course not, Henry.”

                “Why wouldn’t you? Isn’t he going to be a part of your life you want to forget? Aren’t you going to want to forget that he died so you’re going to make something up against him?” he asks bitterly.

                Her face screws up tightly and tears stream down her face as she sobs once. He feels a sharp pang, regretting that he’s said something to make her cry. She sucks in a sharp breath and releases it shakily. “No, Henry. I never want to forget him,” she says, the words thick and heavy with her emotion. “I love Graham. He was a good man. You know that,” she says.

                He nods absently. He knows Graham was good. That’s why he was killed. There’s something there, some memory or something that builds at the back of his mind but he lets it go. “What if he wasn’t good? Would you have lied then?”

                She stiffens and he knows her answer. “I don’t know, Henry. All I know is that he’s not here and you’re going to have to help me let her know about him.”

                His brain shoots through with bright pain, and he can almost feel something he needs to say, something she needs to know. It sifts out of his head like sand through a grate. “I’ll help you. But I’m still mad at you.” He pauses, playing with a loose thread on his sweater. “I want to meet my dad.” He’s going to have to change his ideas of who his father is. Where better to start than with the man himself?

                She nods. “Yeah, okay,” she says and turns.

                “Wait,” Henry says and gets up. He turns and hugs around her waist, technically around Brianna. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

                She makes a strangled sound and places her hand on his head. When he looks up, she is nodding compulsively. Her lips are tight and she swallows thickly. “It’s okay,” she finally manages, a tear slipping from her careful mask.

                She steps inside and he watches her carefully. He knows this anger can’t last forever, but he wants to hold on to it so badly. He hates what she’s done, what it reminds him of. But he also knows that she isn’t in a good place and she’ll need him when Brianna comes. He loves them, no matter how mad he is at her.

                He sighs, leaning against the rails again, letting his lashes flutter over his cheeks. A couple cautious steps are made toward him, but he doesn’t look up.

                “So … you’re my dad,” he says cautiously, the words feeling strange rolling around his tongue. They are heavy, unnatural. He has never said those words before, not really. He has always wondered how it would feel to call someone dad, like some of the kids at school were able to do. He almost said it to Graham one time, just to see how it would taste, but this was after the dart incident and he was half-afraid his mom would do something to him.

                The man, who strangely looks a little like him and a lot like Rumplestiltskin, nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, as if he, too, can’t believe the words.

                He bounces on his toes and then rocks back. “I’m Henry,” he introduces, finally taking a subtle look at his father.

                A tentative smile crosses his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry,” he replies. He shifts slightly. “Sorry it took so long.”

                He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

                They pause, not sure what to say to each other next. He never expected such awkward tension. Even when he met Emma for the first time, there had been things to say to one another. He had been expecting to see his mom, though. He definitely didn’t expect to be tracking down his dad on this trip.

                “So, you’re from over there?” he asks, trying to stir up conversation.

                He nods. “I grew up there. I left when I was just a little older than you after what … what my dad did.”

                That’s something that still makes his head spin. He’s related to Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin. He thought it was strange enough being the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming and now he has to tack on something weirder. “What was it like?” he asks.

                He sighs and presses against the bar. “It’s just … the magic,” he says, his eyes fogging over.

                He scrunches his face. “But there can be magic here, too. My mom and my sister have that. So does my other mom and your dad when they’re in Storybrooke. And Ruby and, well, lots of people. What else?”

                He raises a brow. “You’re that used to magic, huh, kid?”

                “Yeah, well, I grew up with Regina. And my mom and sister are products of true love. There’s a lot of magic to go around.”

                Something dark crosses his features. “Magic was never a good thing in my life.”

                Henry looks at him sideways. “Yeah … I remember reading your story.”

                Neal looks at him, startled. “My story?”

                He nods. “Yeah. There’s a book back in Storybrooke about all the fairytales from your world. It has everyone in it. When Mr. Gold said he wanted to find his son, I reread your part.”

                “Huh,” Neal says, squinting his eyes into the distance. “Then you know something about how it was like. I don’t know how to explain it. I like here a lot better.”

                Henry looks down at the city again, the bustling of the streets. “It’s different here than in Storybrooke, too. This is only the second time I’ve left. Well, I mean, since Regina adopted me.”

                He looks down at him. “You’re adopted?”

                Henry meets his eye, forgetting that he’s a little behind. “Mom was in jail,” he says, figuring it is the simplest explanation. “She wanted to give me my best chance.”

                Neal’s face twists, looking away sharply. “Oh,” he finally says.

                Henry pauses. “It kinda sucked growing up when no one else did because of the curse. But I wouldn’t have my sister if that didn’t happen.”

                He looks at him oddly. “Why?”

                He shrugs, going for the simple explanation. “Graham would have been old. That way, him and mom were basically the same age.”

                He frowns and Henry can see that he is struggling with something. “Is he going to be good to you, Henry? I mean, when he and your mom are together with the new baby, will he be good to you?”

                Henry looks away, that _something_ clawing in his belly. He remembers secret smiles and bad jokes and a guiding hand. He’ll be the only one with those memories, now.  “I liked him and he was always the one that was nice to me, ever since I was a little kid. But he died a while ago.”

                “Oh,” Neal says, fumbling for words. He sighs.

                Henry pushes back, rocking on his heels. “So, Rumplestiltskin is really my grandfather?”

                He grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that, kid.”

                Henry’s not sure what to think of it. Mr. Gold has always been that scary guy that lingers around the sidelines, waiting for a chance to pounce. It makes him curious. “What was your mom like?”

                “My mom?” he asks, surprised. He squints into the distance. “She was pretty. She had dark hair, kinda like mine, and these green eyes that always seemed soft. She was a nice woman but … sad. She was very good to me, even if she didn’t like my father a whole lot. She loved me a lot.”

                Henry thinks about that, his brow furrowing. “But she left, right? That’s what the book said. She left with Captain Hook, before he became Captain Hook.”

                He’s silent a moment. “Yeah, she left,” he says quietly. “I didn’t find out until I had gone through the portal, but you’re right. But when she was there, she was a good mom, at least most of the time.” He sighs. “You like pizza, kid?”

                He’s startled by the sudden change in conversation. “Pizza?”

                “Yeah, pizza. I’m starving. And you should try the pizza,” he said.

                Henry looks at him, understanding that his dad isn’t quite ready for the heavy talks that their situation will require. He smiles. “Sure. Let me guess, the best pizza is in New York and I got to try it?”

                “Actually, it’s in the Kingdom of Damarian on the north shore of the Dragon Fields of Zorn,” he says with a straight face. Henry looks up at him suspiciously and Neal cracks a smile. “Nah, it’s in New York. Let’s grab your mother and we’ll go.”

                He crawls into the apartment, which is only slightly less cold than outside. He catches sight of Emma, who is hanging back, away from Mr. Gold. He feels bad. She looks worse than she did when they were outside and he wonders if she cried some more. “Mom?” he asks. Her head pops up and her eyes are glassy. She manages a small smile. “Want to get pizza with us?”

                Her eyes dart between him and Neal and she gives a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “If you want to go with him alone, I’ll understand,” she says.

                Henry crosses the room and pulls gently on her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re all hungry.”

                She smiles and pulls an arm around him, hugging him to her side gratefully.

                She opens the door, and there is a man standing right outside. Her eyes widen. “Killian?”

                He is dressed head-to-toe in leather, with dark hair and piercing eyes lined in black; he looks like he was ripped straight from the book. The man is staring down his mother in determination. “Sorry, love,” he says and blows some powdery dust to cover her.

                “What did you …,” his mom starts, glowing red quickly, and then grabs a hold of her belly and cries out. “What did you _do_?” she asks, desperation edging her tone.

                His look is sympathetic but resolute. “I need you out of the way while I seek my revenge,” he says simply, eyes casting up to lock on Mr. Gold.

                “You,” Mr. Gold sneers, hands tightening into fists at his side. Neal’s eyes are wide, his mouth parted open in shock.

                Henry’s eyes can’t widen more. This man is from that other world, he is positive. He notices that one hand is missing, a hook gleaming from the limb. “Captain Hook?” he asks.

                The man turns to him, giving him a quick once-over. “Henry, I presume. Sorry, mate, but looks like your sister’s coming early.”

                “Killian, dammit, you said you wouldn’t involve them!” his mom screams, moaning as she collapses to her knees.

Henry runs to her and puts an arm around her shoulders in support. “Mom?” he asks, worried.

                “Relax, lass. It’s just sending you into labor. The whelp will be fine,” he says and turns to Neal and Mr. Gold with narrowed eyes, advancing around them cautiously.

                “You idiot, it’s too early!” she cries.

                He turns sharply. “Snow White said you were almost due.”

                She snarls. “A relative term, you goddamn pirate! I still have four weeks left!” she replies, whimpering as the pain and worry increases.

                “You dare put the child in danger, pirate?” Gold asks with a glare. He turns to Neal. “We need to get her to a medical facility. The child’s magic should save itself, but we need to do everything we can to make sure of it.”

                Neal lets his mouth snap shut and nods.

                The pirate’s arms are slack, looking between his mom and Mr. Gold. “I … It wasn’t my intention. The child _must_ be healthy,” he murmurs, staring down Emma with a look of shame. He turns sharply to Gold and backs toward the door. “I will put my revenge on hold while you get them safe,” he finally says.

                Neal is on the phone and it seems that Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin are in an understanding, but Henry’s mind is whirling about other things. Emma’s breaths are coming in short pants and pain is etched across her face. “Please be all right, Mom. I’m so sorry. I’m not really mad at you. Please be all right,” he cries, burying his face into her neck. They need to be okay, he just got them back!

                She smiles weakly, brushing back his hair. “It’s okay, Henry. We’ll get to the hospital and it will be okay. We’ve got good magic on our side. She’ll be okay,” she pants, gritting her teeth after as another wave of pain makes her whole body tremble.

                He whimpers, hoping it will be true. He looks up with tear-filled eyes to Mr. Gold. “Please, they’ll be all right, won’t they?”

                He ignores him and turns to Neal. “Well?”

                “Ambulance is coming,” he states.

                Emma’s breathing is steadying, her eyes closing as she concentrates. “I can still think and speak during the contractions. I think … I think I’m still in the early stages,” she says as she hisses.

                Mr. Gold approaches her. “I can’t figure out anything without my magic. Trust me in saying that once we return to Storybrooke, I will do everything in my power to be sure she remains healthy.”

                “For a price?” Emma asks, though her eyes remain shut.

                “No more deals, Rumplestiltskin,” Neal grinds out, standing to the side at a loss.

                He smiles. “Not in this case. True love must be preserved,” he says, somewhat cryptically.

                Henry feels something strange in his chest and in his mind. It’s that weird feeling again, that there’s something he’s forgetting.

                But his sister is coming. Not in a month, like they had expected, but _now_. Anticipation is creeping up, along with the uncertainty and fear. Then, his mom’s hand squeezes his and he is filled with confidence. Brianna will be okay. His mom will be okay. They will be a family and they will be happy. Because they are good, they broke the curse, and they _deserve_ it.

                By the time the ambulance takes away his mom and Neal is hailing a taxi to follow, he is no longer afraid. Even Captain Hook is humbled, making plans with Mr. Gold even though his hook twitches angrily at his side, and they keep their distance. Everyone’s looks are dark, worried.

                But Henry knows, he remembers. True love is the most powerful magic of all.

                And what better place to find it than in their family?

 


	24. Emma (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: It has officially been 2 years now since Graham’s death on OUAT. Yet, here we all are, still supportive of the Gremma!! You all are so awesome.
> 
> This chapter contains a very brief mention of 3x01. No other spoilers or dialogue. There will be a lot of medical terminology, but it is meant to go over most of your heads a bit, since it also goes over Emma’s.

 

                Emma lets her breath expel in a low sigh as she is transported to the hospital. An IV has been hastily inserted into her arm and the limb feels numb, her fingers tingling like bubbles popping in her veins. Her shirt is bunched up around her ribcage, and two bands are encircling her stomach with sticky, viscous gel attaching it just under her belly button. Noises are sounding all around in bells and beeps and trills, a cacophony of electronic noise.

                “Miss, how far along are you?” the EMT asks, hanging a bag of saline over her head.

                “Thirty-four weeks. The contractions were right on top of each other, but I can still talk through them,” she says rapidly. She knows these are contradictory terms. She poured through books on pregnancy this time around, too afraid to go to the hospital and have it all get back to Regina. She’s kept herself healthy and done her research; the one thing she hadn’t accounted for was a magical boost to her labor.

                Someone is wrapping a band around her arm, taking her blood pressure, and she forces herself to calm down so the reading will be accurate. She blows out a low breath, trying to center herself.

                “The baby’s heart is strong; there are no signs of distress. Thirty-four weeks is good. The baby should have some good lung function,” the female paramedic states soothingly in a surprisingly Jamaican accent, as her partner assesses her further.

                Statistics are rolling through her brain, and she knows she should be more specific. “Thirty-four weeks and six days. Almost thirty-five, that’s good, right?” she asks, feeling her belly tighten again. She breathes through it. “Better than less, right?”

                “Yes, darlin’, better than less.” The woman grabs her hand with a smile before marking something down on a clipboard. “We’re almost to Mount Sinai. There are excellent doctors there and a top-notch NICU just in case. Your father-in-law told us to send you there, and luckily we’re in the neighborhood for it.”

                Emma looks up, face screwing up in distaste. Gold. “He’s not my father-in-law,” she grinds out unhappily. Then, she thinks about it. What are the best NICUs again? “Level three?” she asks, final remembering the top tiers.

                “One of the best in the state,” the paramedic agrees with a smile.

                She smiles weakly, thankful that at least she’ll be in good hands.

                “Right turn!” the driver calls from up front. The EMT and paramedic grab the bar above them and hold on as they shift. Emma breathes through another contraction, less worried this time since she knows the destination will be best for them.

                Once she is at the hospital, she shifts from emergency triage to the antepartum floor quickly. It is all a blur of blood tests and machines and words that fly over her head. She grits her teeth, answering as many questions as she can and angrily defending her right to keep her jacket close and her bracelet _on_. She takes in the judgmental looks when she says she doesn’t have an OBGYN and didn’t have prenatal care with stride. She knew what was best for the two of them and they had been doing fine until Killian’s interference.

                The looks are mostly gone by the time she is settled into her room. The doctor there takes her quickly through a plan of care. “Procardia. It’s a tocolytic. We’re going to try to delay your labor as long as we can while we assess to see if your baby’s ready for her entry into this world,” he says with a smile that, to her, seems a little plastic.

                The nurse is pressing against her belly and then a gloved hand assesses her. “The baby’s engaged, cephalic position, LOA, station zero and ninety-percent effaced, four centimeters. Membranes intact, apyretic, vitals WNL,” she rattles off.

                Emma tries to remember what it all means, but she finds herself at a loss. It’s too many numbers, too much terminology, and her research is escaping her as the pain increases. She only understands she needs another 10 percent, understands that there are six more centimeters to go.

                The doctor nods, grimly. “We’re going to give you some corticosteroids, called betamethasone, too, just to be positive her lungs are open. I’ll be blunt: you are most likely going to deliver within the next 48 hours considering how fast your labor came and how quickly it is progressing. Rest assured that our NICU team is ready and the fact that you are nearly thirty-five weeks along is very much in your and the baby’s favor.”

                She nods, feeling the worry creep up. “I need my son,” she states, even as a clipboard with more ridiculous medical terminology is thrust at her. She signs it hurriedly, and watches as the nurse adds a secondary bag of fluid to her IV. “Henry, is he here?”

                The doctor is signing something and jotting something else on the portable computer that has been wheeled into her room. “I am not sure if there are visitors here yet, but I will have Reagan check.  We will be monitoring you closely. You aren’t to be overstimulated, so one visitor at a time, and not for too long.”

                She wants to grumble out that she’s already overstimulated, but the nurse at the head of the bed interrupts her.

                “Okay, hon, we’re gonna get a cath in to monitor your output and we’re infusing the medicine. The contractions should start to go away. That band on your arm is testing your blood pressure every few minutes, and the baby’s being monitored on this screen. She tolerated the previous contractions pretty well, but we want it to stay that way. We’re going to need you to keep deep breathing, not staying in one position too long. I’ll be coming later to check in on you, too.”

                She nods, but then her eyes roll back, feeling her breathing stifle.

                “Miss Swan, I need you to look at me,” the doctor says. Something is beeping furiously. She blinks her eyes open but she can’t keep them that way, the lids are so heavy. She feels so tired and breathing is so hard. Her mind is a fog, and she feels like she is drifting away. “Respirations and blood pressure are dropping. This is too quick. Are you sure it was the right dosage?”

                The nurse’s voice is hard as she responds. “Yes, it was verified with pharmacy and double checked by two RNs. Pushing thirty mLs calcium gluconate ten percent now.”

                Emma blinks, feeling her breaths quicken to a more natural pace. Her brain unclutters, and she feels more like herself. She takes the moment of relief before the contractions start again.

                The doctor’s eyes are grim and confused. “I’m sorry, Miss Swan, but your body is not tolerating the tocolytic. We’re going to have to deliver without the steroids, either. Reagan, call the NICU and let them know. We’re going to keep monitoring you.”

                She nods, still feeling the effects of the drug wearing into her system. He leaves, letting the nurse take over her care. She checks a few things, monitoring her oxygen, blood pressure, and pulse closely. After half an hour, she leaves with the promise to be back in thirty minutes.

                It must be the magic, she thinks distantly. It must be preventing the medicine from working properly.

                Like it or not, Brianna is coming today, she realizes, grabbing her wrist.

                She doesn’t have anything prepared. She doesn’t have a carseat, a bassinet, a crib, one of those boppy things, diapers, bottles, pacifiers, pumps, blankets, onesies, hats … nothing. She has had no time to prepare. She was supposed to go shopping with Mary Margaret after returning to Storybrooke; they had discussed it. But then Rumplestiltskin happened. It’s all his fault that she isn’t _ready for it_. Midnight feedings and changing diapers and being a _mom_. She’s not _ready_.

                The nurse comes back, checks again, and then leaves with a wide smile. “Visitors,” she says knowingly. The door opens hesitantly.

                “Mom?” a trembling voice calls and suddenly, all her worries melt away. She smiles and holds a hand out to Henry. He runs to her desperately, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

                “She’s coming, Henry. You’ll get to meet her today,” she murmurs into his soft hair. She is overtaken by flashbacks, of a prison hospital bed, of blue gowns and sterile blankets, of a cold shackle on her sweaty ankle, of a child in a doctor’s arms, _it’s a boy_ , _you can change your mind_. Her eyes close and she presses a kiss on his head, firmer than she intended as tears gather behind her eyes. “We’ll finally be together.”

                He looks up at her with those eyes, eyes she had forgotten match Neal’s so well. She hasn’t thought of Henry as his, not since the early days of her pregnancy. He had gone from their child, occasionally just Neal’s child, to her child, her baby. And then, after a couple discussions with the prison psychologist … he had simply become _the_ baby. She had only referred to Henry as Neal’s child in her most bitter times after she found out, and ever since meeting him again can think of him as only Henry.

                She finds it funny that she can think of Brianna as Graham’s so easily in comparison. Whenever she thinks of her little girl, Graham’s name comes synonymous. Maybe it is just because it means Brianna is a piece of him that she can keep, a memory she so desperately wants, as Graham’s face slowly drifts away.

                Whereas Henry … Henry is his own person, so separate from Neal and herself that she can’t really think of him as his.

                “She’ll be okay, right?” Henry asks, cautiously placing a hand over her belly.

                She nods, actually believing it for once, despite the complications they faced with the medication. “She will be fine. She’s just going to be here early.”

                The door parts open. Gold’s cane enters the room before the rest of him. “You’ll need a way to transfer her back to Storybrooke,” Gold says.

                She sighs. “I wasn’t expecting this excursion to include a magical pirate and a birth,” she says dryly, clenching her teeth against another contraction. She worries, feeling like she can’t concentrate with this most recent one, bright pain ripping through her. She is reaching the end of the labor. When she blinks out of it, Gold is waving his hand.

                “I’ll provide the essentials,” he replies smoothly, looking at Henry with a strange expression. “The least I can do, really. And it’ll keep us out of the way.”

                She winces. Somehow, she forgot about the fact that he is now related to Henry, if only by blood, and that somehow they are all interconnected so strangely.

                She notices now that Neal is hanging in the back corner, apart from everyone, and the furthest away from her. _Good_ , she thinks. She might have been tempted to clock him a few times during the more difficult parts of her labor as an excuse. She cannot help but be angry with him, especially as she sees her son clinging to her so tightly. She could have had him this whole time, if he hadn’t been such a coward.

                Henry’s head shoot up, tentative optimism in her eye. “Neal says he’ll take us to get some things for her. I got a list,” he says, holding up a paper with a myriad of things in his penmanship.

                She smiles, actually impressed with some of the things he thought about, even if there are three or more instances of stuffed animals. “We don’t have to get everything right now. I think just a car seat, clothes, blanket, and diapers will suffice until we get back.”

                He frowns but nods. “We can get the rest later? Together?”

                Emma smiles. “Yes, of course we can. We can take her with us, too.” She is just about to suggest calling Mary Margaret and David to plan something, when she tightens as she feels another contraction flow over her. Henry watches her worriedly, brushing back her hair, even though he looks lost.

                When it is over, he offers a small smile. “Mr. Gold says when we go back we can take the ship since it’ll be faster than the plane, and more stealthy.”

                She looks up. “The ship?”

                Gold raps his cane to gather attention. “It seems the pirate decided to leave behind a loan in apology. I don’t know what you did, Miss Swan, but he certainly has taken a liking to you.”

                She shakes her head. She wonders exactly where Killian’s loyalty truly lies, as it seems to change with the weather. Or maybe not. Maybe they have always been on the same side. “We’re too alike. We both loved someone whose heart was crushed to dust in front of them.”

                His voice is cool as he says, “At least you have something to show for it instead of simply a lust for revenge.”

                She groans, the imaginary band tightening over her waist. The lines on the bottom monitor sustain a height to reflect it. She is unable to reply to the imp’s unapologetic retort.

                Her nurse rushes in and bends forward, a hand on her stomach. “The contractions are strong. Stronger than they should be,” she murmurs. She shoos everyone out. Henry’s fearful eyes worry her more than the nurse fussing at the monitors. She wishes she could calm the anxiety that is in Henry’s face but he is gone before the contraction fully ends.

                The nurse does another assessment. Her eyes widen. “You’re completely effaced and even with your time on the Procardia you’re already at nine centimeters. You’re progressing very fast. I’m going to call the doctor in,” she says, but not before placing a full face mask over her. Emma breathes in the oxygen, letting her senses crisp with it, making her so very aware.

                There is murmuring around her, but she feels vaguely high. Giddy, despite the pain. The doctor is asking her if she feels like pushing. She feels like screaming a very immature “duh,” at him, but she only nods. He tells her to do so at the next contraction.

                She’s alone again, she notices as she grits her teeth and the lights flicker and spark. Yet this doesn’t bother her; her son is outside, waiting to be let back in. Her parents are back in Storybrooke, anxiously awaiting them. Her daughter is hers to keep. There is _love_ waiting for her this time. Instead of reaching for the offered hand of a nurse, she grabs her wrist, feeling the rough laces against it and gripping the ties as tightly as she can. _The only thing missing_ ….

                It feels like hours but it likely only been one when she finally hears the word, “crowning.” A sigh of exhausted relief emerges and she allows herself to gain the strength to push harder. There is an entire crew in her room, all surrounding her. A small crib with a light over it is pushed in the corner along with a team that she knows is from NICU. She feels her body release and she collapses back in exhaustion, waiting.

                She finally, _finally_ hears it.

                God, it sounds like a miracle all in itself to hear her cry, the powerful scream that emits, that at the same time sounds so fragile. Tears are rushing down her own face, sobs that are shaking her whole body in relief and happiness.

                “There’s the girl!” the doctor cries happily, clamping the cord.

                She cranes her neck to watch as they take her to check her over. She only caught the barest glimpse of Henry, hiding her face when she was offered more, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep him. Now, she _craves_ the sight of her daughter.

                They look like they’re being rough with her, the tiny infant on the plastic-cased crib, as they rub her down and listen to her lungs and heart. She is grinning as she watches.

                “Is there a name, mom?” one of the NICU nurses ask through a face mask, eyes crinkling in delight. The title warms her; she gets to keep her, be her mother, forever and ever. It’s not as scary as it once was.

                “Brianna. Brianna Marie,” she lets out in a sigh. Brianna was her mother’s offering to her. Marie is her offering to her mother, her best friend.

                “Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl,” the nurse coos, folding the baby loosely in the blanket before placing her on her chest. “Against your skin, mommy,” she says, pulling aside her gown to place her there.

                Emma is in awe. She is _perfect_. Her tiny fingers are splayed against her skin, pink and real and warm. Her hair is wet, but she can see that it is dark with spiraled curls. Her skin is thin and delicate, her features just a little smooshed by her entry into the world. The baby’s neck straightens and she opens her eyes, seeming to look straight into her before resting again on the space above her heart. Emma rests a hand on her back, fully engulfing it, and she sighs as the little heart beats rapidly against her and puffs of breath land on her skin.

                “She’s a healthy one. Six pounds, two ounces, twenty inches long. APGARs are near perfect, lungs are fantastic. She’s a miracle baby, this one.”

                _Yes_ , Emma thinks, cupping her head and closing her eyes in contentment. Her product of true love, this tiny infant that is nestled so perfectly in her arms. She is her miracle. She is the reason she will always believe in magic. How could she not? She may have lost him, but not before he gave her their perfect child. She presses her lips to her brow, and brings the tiny hand to touch the bracelet on her wrist.  

                The nurse hovers beside her, reminding her of ways to hold her but mostly just letting them be. “Just going to be a bit, and then we’ll get her checked out thoroughly while you deliver the placenta,” she clarifies.

                She doesn’t want to let her go, this little being that is so fresh and new and _hers_. She gets to keep this one, she is allowed to love this one from the beginning. She is a symbol, yes, of that love she once had, but she is also this perfect tiny human she is just getting to know. She presses her lips to her soft head again, grinning as she roots against her skin, making soft whimpers. She suddenly is stricken with the need to see Henry, to have both of her children together. But for now, she will hold her Brianna for as long as she can.

                She is taken away gently, and Emma tries not to let it bother her. The doctor coaxes her through delivering the placenta; a minor feat after all is said and done. He congratulates her, smiling that plastic smile as he expresses his disbelief at how healthy her little one is. She smiles tightly in response, asking after her daughter. He brushes aside her concerns dismissively, giving a vague time frame. She is exceptionally happy to see him leave the room after it is done, with the knowledge that she’ll be seeing a different doctor now that she has delivered.

                The clock moves slowly, and she moves into a new room. As she is settling in, Brianna is finally wheeled back into the room in a small crib. The nurse is absolutely beaming, spouting off lab values and a healthy prognosis. She is set in her arms again, and the nurse helps guide her to begin feeding. It is an unusual feeling; she stares down in awe as Brianna sucks contentedly.

                As the baby is drifting back to sleep, Henry returns. He walks cautiously up to her, a small brown bear clutched in his slack grip. “She’s here,” he breathes, reaching tentative fingers toward his sister.

                “It’s okay. Just be gentle,” she coaxes. He gently pets back the downy hair on her head, staring at her with wide eyes. Then, he moves his hand down to her hand that was freed from the blankets. Brianna grips a finger, opening her big, dewy newborn eyes.

                “Wow,” Henry sighs, adjusting to sit next to her on the bed. “Hi. I’m Henry. I’m your big brother.”

                Emma pulls a free hand around him, fresh tears emerging at the words. “She’s going to need your help. We’re gonna have to teach her about everything.”

                Henry nods seriously, his body straightening as he seems to take the responsibility earnestly. He finally brings the bear to the baby’s eye level. “This is your first gift. You’ll get lots more, but this one’s from me, so it’ll be the best.”

                Emma laughs, letting a few tears slip down her face. “Does it have a name?” she asks, brushing a hand across the bear. It’s surprisingly smooth, softer than she would have guessed. Her breath hitches as she notices a small gold star, drawn and cut hastily, fastened with a safety pin to its shoulder. Her smile breaks a little and she wants to sob at Henry’s thoughtfulness.

                He shakes his head. “Not yet. She can name him later, if she wants. Y’know, when she’s older.”

                She brings a hand up to cup his cheek. “Henry, I’m so sorry I lied to you.”

                He nods, stiffly, looking back down at his sister. “I think I understand why. Just … just don’t do it again?” he asks plainly.

                Emma shakes her head. “No. Never again. Not even about Christmas presents,” she says with a laugh that he joins in.

                “Well … maybe I’ll let those ones slide,” he says with a grin. He scoots down to lay next to her, burying his head into her side and she clutches him closer. She has both of her children in her arms. As far as her life goes, this is definitely one of those amazing moments.

                She hopes she’ll have a million more, now that she believes in the possibility of a happy ending.

 

 


	25. Snow (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: After the midseason finale? Actually dead. This is brought to you by my ghost. She is still wearing the shoelace, I can’t even … *dies again*
> 
> Back to our regularly scheduled programing. Reminder that there will be a special update on Friday, the 20th, so there will not be an update the following week. I’m still deciding whether or not there will be an update the week of the 30th. 
> 
> Also, I keep forgetting to thank La Lisboa; she is an awesome beta and suffers through my feels superbly. :D (Go read I See The Light … you will not be disappointed). 
> 
> No dialogue from the show in this chapter.

                “Graham?” Snow asks, walking cautiously into the living room. The man looks up, offering a small smile. He looks tired, drained, really. She doesn’t ask what Victor did to him, but every once in a while he’ll wince as he twists or absently rub his temples. Off and on since sometime this afternoon, there is something new. He’ll bring a hand to his stomach, flinching in pain; it only stopped in the last few hours. At least she knows the reason for his raw knuckles.

                It’s been a long day, getting used to being back. The addition of Graham, after the initial disbelief and questioning, has been strangely comforting. He has been a calming presence in the loft, despite how much she knows he must be missing Emma. David has been shockingly sympathetic with Graham; they act as if they were old friends, working off one another as if they always had.

                “Snow … I just wanted to say how glad I am that you’re back,” he says, his voice conveying the truth in the statement.

                “Thank you.” She sits in the armchair and leans forward. “I know that you’re disappointed that Emma’s not here,” she says bluntly.

                Graham shrugs, but she can see his eyes change color at the mention. “She is safe and back in our world. That’s all that matters.”

                “Yes,” she agrees, reaching out and taking his hand gingerly. “But she misses you just as badly as you miss her. More, even.”

                “Because she still thinks I’m dead.” He sighs. “Do you think I should have let you tell her?” he asks. They had all spoken earlier and he had agreed that it would be prudent not to let her know of his existence while she finishes the deal.

                She shakes her head. “No, I think we made a decision, and it may be the best one we have in this unhappy situation,” she says.

                He squeezes her hand before releasing it. “I appreciate that.”

                She wrings her hands, uncertain on how to bring up this next topic. “Graham, I am so sorry,” she blurts out in a tangle of words.

                He looks up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “For what?”

                She presses her palms to her knees and blinks back tears furiously. “For not saving you.”

                His gaze flickers and he shakes his head. “Snow, please, I don’t—“

                “No, you need to hear this,” she says, pulling her features as she tries to explain. “I tried. I did. As soon as the siege ended, I wanted to go back and save you. You saved me. You saved my husband. You _deserved_ your freedom. But we didn’t … we couldn’t find where she kept her vault. And my advisers told me I shouldn’t free you unless we did.”

                He’s looking away now, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You couldn’t have trusted me without it,”  
 he agrees. “I don’t blame you, Snow.”

                But she blames herself. She remembers the horrible things that he had to do, but she remembers the merciful things he was able to accomplish as well. “We should have tried harder. How many other hearts, other _people_ did she have under her control? I was their ruler; I should have fought harder for them. But then Emma came, and I—“ her voice cracks and she blinks back tears.

                He leans forward and engulfs her in a brief but strong hug. “ _No one_ blames you, Snow. You tried. And Regina was still a threat and you were with child … no one was thinking about the Heartless Ones and that’s okay because you had your priorities sorted. They were sorted _correctly_ ,” he insists.

                She shakes her head. “I know it had to be this way. That the curse had to be enacted so … so she would have time to catch up to you. But I’m sorry that I didn’t make sure you had your physical heart for that time … and don’t you dare fight me on that one. I should have tried _harder_.”

                He looks like he doesn’t agree but he says nothing to its effect, just as she requested. He curls into himself slightly. “I didn’t need my physical heart for her,” he finally says softly.

                Snow looks at him, her heart twisting as she realizes what he’s saying. “I know. It’s amazing how true love crosses so many boundaries.”

                He presses his lips together. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with me so soon after you found her,” he says suddenly.

                She smiles, a little sadly. A part of her still feels the injustice Regina imparted on her but she is aware that Graham suffered worse. She hopes he and Emma can heal each other. Or maybe Brianna will do that for both of them. “I am glad that you two found each other. It is meant to be.”

He coughs and stands, obviously uncomfortable talking about it with his love’s mother. “She hasn’t called today?”

                “Not yet,” she replies with a frown. It’s late in the evening. She hasn’t heard from Emma since she sent a text that morning that they were going to find Baelfire’s apartment. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

                He nods. “She can take care of herself. I just worry around Gold.”

                “She has more power than he does right now. Trust in her.”

                The phone rings, interrupting them, and Snow smiles apologetically.

                “I’ll just start on dinner,” Graham says, smiling knowingly. It is after midnight, but not one of them has thought of food until now.

                Snow grabs her cell phone and her heart races when she sees the caller ID. “Emma? Oh, thank God, you had us worried!” she says, ducking into the other room and up the stairs.

                “Yeah, sorry about that,” Emma says, her voice deep and scratchy.

                “You sound exhausted, Emma,” she says sympathetically. “Has it been that hard tracking Gold’s son?”

                There’s a laugh on the other end, short and hollow sounding. “Oh, Mary Margaret, you have no idea. A lot has happened since this morning. It feels like forever ago.”

                “Oh?” she asks. “What’s going on? Have you found him?”

                Now Emma’s laugh is sharp. “Oh, I found him, all right. Ran him down ten blocks before I got his attention. The thing is … he’s Neal.”

                Snow’s lets the name wash over her, the implications of it churning her stomach. “No,” she murmurs, hoping it’s not true. “Emma, not _that_ Neal, right?”

                “Yup, that Neal. The guy that abandoned me in jail, Henry’s father. Apparently August talked him into the first part. Idiot,” she says.

                She not sure which man the insult is directed at, but she’s willing to bet on a little of both. “Oh, Emma. Does he know? About Henry?”

                “Yeah, he knows. And Henry knows. Henry was a bit mad at me to begin with, which I can understand. I did lie pretty convincingly about his dad before.”

                “You were just trying to protect him,” she insists.

                “Yeah, and myself.” She exhales roughly. “But the fact that Rumplestiltskin is my kid’s grandfather is only the tip of this damn iceberg.”

                Snow’s eyes furrow and her grip on the phone increases. “That’s a pretty big bombshell. You’re saying there’s more?” She can’t even begin to imagine what could be more than that. The man that has manipulated their every move is now related to their family by blood. It’s a pretty big deal.

                “Yeah, there’s more. Hook is in this world.”

                Snow almost drops the phone. “Hook? The pirate? But that’s impossible! We beat them! We took the only way home!”

                “Apparently not the only way. He somehow found us at Neal’s apartment, wanting his revenge on Gold.”

                Snow’s eyes close and she slumps against the wall. “And now would be the best way to do it, being that he’s powerless. Is Gold hurt? Is he dead?”

                “No. Hook wanted me out of the way first. Apparently, he figured I was further along than I actually was.”

                Snow feels dread collect in the pit of her stomach. “Emma … Emma, tell me that you’re okay. Tell me she’s okay.”

                “We’re okay. He had some sort of magical dust that made me go into labor. Once he found out I was still a few weeks from my due date, he was all too willing to help me get medical attention. He gave up on killing Gold for now.”

                Her lips press together. Labor? “Emma?” she asks cautiously.

                She can hear the tired smile in her voice. “She’s here, Mary. She’s perfect.”

                Snow chokes out a half-sob. “Oh my God, Emma, oh my God! She’s born? She’s okay?”

                “Born at 8:15pm, just like Henry. She’s healthy. The doctors can’t believe how healthy. A little jaundice, but they’re working on that right now even though Gold insists we go so he can heal her magically.”

                “Are you coming home? When? I want to meet her! Oh, Emma, how is Henry? How are they together? Do you need me to go shopping for supplies? I know we were going to together, but Emma, she’s here!” she squeals in delight, trying hard to keep her voice down an octave.

                David passes by and mouths a confused “what.” Snow shoos him away. She’ll tell him later, right now she needs information.

                Emma’s giggling and Snow doesn’t think she’s ever heard her so ecstatic. “Henry is in _love_ with her. He doesn’t want to leave her side. I told Gold that I want her to have actual medical healing and not magical. Dr. Amin says she just needs a couple more rounds of the biiiblanket. She’s optimistic since she’s feeding so well.” She pauses and there is something in her breath that makes her catch on to the fact that despite it all, her child is still hurting. “Mom … she looks so much like him.”

                Snow can hear the words hitch. She glances around the corner, watching Graham chop vegetables. His lashes flick across his cheeks, a smile crossing his face as he looks deep in thought. He moves smoothly through the kitchen, turning from one task to the other. She feels the guilt rise again but also the warming knowledge of how happy Emma will be when she returns. “Emma … that’s a good thing.”

                “It is,” she replies after a beat. “Anyway, we’ll be leaving in two days, I think. We’re going to be at the pier since Killian left his ship.”

                “He is such a strange man,” she murmurs. She considers again how he might be there. “Emma, does this mean Cora’s here, too?”

                She sighs. “I don’t know. I’m trying to keep that at the back of my mind for now. I need to focus on Brianna.”

                “You’re right. Please, do that. I’ll see about finding some things for her by the time you get back.”

                “You don’t have to do that. We have a few things and I can wait until I get back.”

                “Hey, consider it a gift to my second grandchild. I’d like to spoil the little princess rotten,” she says, grinning. _Since I didn’t get to spoil you_ , she finishes to herself.

                “Whatever,” she replies, but she can hear the happiness in her voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

                “Sounds great,” she says, hanging up.

                “So?” David asks, coming back into the room.

                She grins. “Brianna’s here.”

                David’s eyes widen. “Early,” he murmurs worriedly.

                “ _Healthy_ ,” she replies, grinning as she wraps her arms around his neck. She gives him a kiss, letting it linger on his lips a little longer than necessary. “Come on. I have some things I need to tell Graham as well.”

                They step into the kitchen and Graham is trying hard not to look too eager. She smiles, understanding that he is trying for their sake.

                “Graham?” she presses.

                He looks up from the oven, eyes nervously wide. “Is she all right?”

                Snow bites her lip, wondering how she will explain that it will take another two days for them to get back. “She’s fine. She’s … they’re finishing some things. They found Baelfire but won’t be home for another couple days.”

                “Why’s that?” he asks.

                She looks over at David, wincing as she remembers what they found out. “Because Baelfire is known in this world as Neal. And Neal is the man that fathered Henry.”

                David sputters. Graham leans back on the countertop, shock registering on his features. Snow still feels the weight of the knowledge around her whole head.

                “Are you sure?” David asks.       

                “Yes, I’m sure. That means we’re related to Rumplestiltskin now.”

                Graham curses under his breath. “Well, that’s going to be interesting,” he says sarcastically, his accent clipping slightly more.

                Snow shakes her head, feeling the need to clarify why this is even worse than they first assume. Heat still burns through her, wanting to retaliate against this _person_ somehow. “But Neal … Neal was the reason that Emma was sent to jail, why she had to give up Henry.”

                She almost wants to laugh at David’s expression; there is the overprotective father that hadn’t emerged when Graham came back. In light of this new revelation about Neal, David looks ready to smash through the entirety of the town to get to the man that hurt his little girl. Steam is practically escaping his nose as a flush climbs up his neck, and Snow feels guilt at the fact that she wants to fan the flames.

                Graham’s grip on the counter has strengthened, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His whole body is rigid, his eyes closed. “What’s Emma got to say about this?” he finally asks.

                At that, Snow has the urge to cry. She respects Graham so much, even more so in this moment. He is more than willing to put Emma’s feelings first, no matter how angry he is. She swallows hard before responding. “She’s worried. Henry and Neal met. Henry was a bit upset with her. I guess they’re trying to work out how they will be able to work things between them all.”

                Graham nods jerkily. “If she’s willing to work with him, we’ll have to as well. Is he joining them once she returns?”

                Snow approaches him and lets a hand rest on his shoulder. His eyes snap open and he looks at her in confusion. “You are such a good man, Graham,” she says softly. He looks away from her, and she shakes her head a little at his humility. Her heart twists and she wishes again that she fought harder. “I’m not sure if he’s returning with them, but I agree with you.”

                David grumbles a response and sighs. “Fine,” he grinds out finally. “But I don’t have to like it.”

                She giggles and walks into his embrace. “You’re a good man, too. And a very good father,” she responds. She is able to shoot down the impulse to look at Graham as she says it. Because she knows … and she is just as eager to have him meet his daughter as she is to meet her newest grandchild. “There’s more. A man we met in the Enchanted Forest has found his way here. Which means we’ll need to prepare for the worst.”

                The three sit down at the table with their lasagna and salad to discuss Neal, Rumplestiltskin, and Hook. After it is all out, Graham pulls a hand through his already messy curls. “We need a plan, in case Cora did come with them.”

                She nods. “I agree. Emma will be back in two days, so we should have something tentative in the very least by then.”

                “We’re going to need the Dark One’s help on this,” David muses.

                “Luckily, he’s partial to our cause,” she replies, looking pointedly at him.

                Graham blinks. “Well, there’s something. But I think you’ll need more help than that in the meantime. If Cora tried to take your heart once, she’ll try again. Do we know where Regina’s wandered off to?”

                David shakes his head. “After the incident, no one’s seen her. She’s being covert, at the very least.”

                “You think they’ll team up,” Snow realizes, dread covering her in tendrils of fear.

                He catches her eye and nods. “I spent too much time with Regina to think otherwise. She may hate her mother, but she _will_ use her to her best advantage.”

                “We’ll have to go on lock down. We’ll get the town to help where they can,” David says, rising in his chair, looking very much like the king he is.

                “Forty-eight hours. Let’s see what we can get done.”

 


	26. Emma (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, COLLEEN!! I got my work schedule for the next couple weeks, and since it’s pretty packed, I won’t be updating until the 6th. Then, back to regular posting schedule!! (I think you’ll need some time for this chapter to sink in, anyhow)  
> No dialogue or spoilers from episodes. 
> 
> Rating reminder: T for sexual suggestiveness (nothing explicit … just keep that in mind)
> 
> Here, have some feels:

                “That’s the pier,” Gold says, pointing ahead. His eyes are closed and he is breathing in deeply. “And I have my magic back.”

                Emma half-turns towards him, wincing as her abdominal muscles pull uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll give that the ship’s quicker than the plane. I still need to get my Bug returned from the airport.”

                He waves dismissively. “I can use magic to get it back, if you would prefer. I highly doubt you want to find a car and then drive to the airport parking garage so soon after finishing your deal.”

                She grumbles a response. She is beyond annoyed at their situation. The ship is grand, but ultimately cramped with Neal and Gold manning the helm. They have been trying their best to stay on opposite sides, but it has been difficult. Henry has been shifting between parents, though admittedly she gets to spend more time with him since she has Brianna to watch over.

                She looks down at her little girl. She is a very content infant. She sleeps in her carrier, seeming to enjoy the rocking of the waves. Emma can already see in her tiny features bits of both herself and Graham. During the trip, she has been learning all she can about her, finding the attributes and attitudes that make her special.

                Henry is especially enamored of her. He likes to speak with her softly as he rocks her to sleep after she is done feeding, telling her stories or just rambling about things they’ll do when she’s older. To see them together is more than her heart can bear most of the time. Her perfect children; how did she ever think she was complete without them?

                Neal has been excellent in his attempts to avoid her. He can’t even seem to look at her straight on and, other than a stiff “congratulations” after Brianna was born (and an annoying mistake from the medical student who called him her husband), hasn’t even spoken to her. While this is fine for now, it can’t be this way forever, however much it irks her. They need to discuss some major aspects about their son. If she will give him credit for anything, it is that he’s being good to Henry. He is currently teaching him how to steer the massive ship into the harbor, much to the kid’s delight.

                Gold turns to them and looks down at Brianna. He waves a hand over her and a pale gold light covers her while she barely stirs in her carrier.

                Emma’s brow furrows. “Dr. Amin gave her a clean bill of health,” she grumbles.

                Gold shrugs. “Now it’s cleaner. And she has some protection.” He then looks her over, and suddenly she feels a tingle through her body that warms before cooling off. “A gift for you as well.”

                She frowns and shifts to test what he’s done. There is no more pain in her muscles, no lingering soreness from the birth, and the skin of her stomach is taut. “You healed me?” she asks.

                His look is as placating as it is impatient. “As I said, a gift. Don’t worry; I didn’t change your body’s functions. You can still nurse. You just don’t have any of the other pesky symptoms.”

                She swallows down something sarcastic, knowing she has to be a little more patient now that she knows he is her son’s grandfather. “Thanks.”

                He nods curtly and watches as Neal and Henry dock the boat seamlessly.

                “Emma!” a voice calls and she turns to the direction. She sees Mary Margaret running towards her, David right on her heels. She steps off the boat, the carrier’s handle carefully held in her grasp. She rocks a little, closing her eyes to regain her center as her whole body wishes to continue to sway.

Mary Margaret pauses once she reaches them, holding her hands to her mouth as she looks down at Brianna. “Oh, Emma, she’s beautiful!” she exclaims.

                Emma feels the pride build within her because her daughter _is_ beautiful, dammit, and she’s not going to pretend like she isn’t in some sort of false modesty. “Thank you,” she beams.

                David is grinning and gives her a side hug, looking down at his new grandchild. “Just as we knew she’d be,” he says with a wink, pulling Henry to him as well.

                Mary Margaret is pulling Brianna out of the car seat and holding her close. Emma can hear her baby let out a small squawk before settling into her grandmother’s arms. “Oh, my, she’s so tiny! David, doesn’t she look as small as Emma did?” she asks, cooing down at the infant.

                Emma grimaces at the reminder. “Be careful with her,” she says needlessly. Mary Margaret is cradling her so cautiously, rocking her up and down as she leans next to her husband to let him have a peak. Mary Margaret’s hand reaches out and traces her tiny features, her eyes big and teary. 

                “Oh, look at her. She looks just like her daddy,” she coos.

                Emma’s heart twists and her smile tightens. She chokes back tears at Mary Margaret’s words, a harsh reminder that her little girl will never be able to call someone daddy, will never truly get to know her father. She shudders slightly, pulling his jacket a little more around her newly thin frame.

                “Aw,” David says, letting Henry lean against him to better see his sister. “I think she looks more like her mommy. But yeah, Graham’s there, too.”

                “I think she just looks like Brianna,” Henry cuts in with a grin.

                “I think you’re right, kid,” she directs at Henry with a nod of approval at his reminder that Brianna is her own person, even though all she can see most of the time in her daughter’s face is Graham.

                Neal and Gold are unloading the ship. She can see Neal eye their family with something akin to wistfulness. She wishes she could say she feels sorry for him and the awkwardness he experiences with his father. Instead, it almost feels like a fitting repayment for denying her a chance for a family with Henry from the start. She doesn’t let the bitter feelings linger. She is simply content with her family by her side, as strange and hastily made as it is.

                “I have an idea,” Mary Margaret says. Something about her tone tells Emma that this is not a sudden one, but a planned one. She’s looking down at Brianna, but more in an attempt to hide her expression. “You should go to the loft. Have a shower, take a nap, unwind. In the meantime, David and I can get to know our new grandchild and hang out with Henry.”

                Emma frowns. She hasn’t let Brianna out of her sight and doesn’t really feel the need to. “That’s okay; we can all go home and spend time together,” she replies.

                David and Mary Margaret are both shaking their heads in unison, and it almost makes Emma dizzy.

                “Emma, you just gave birth and had a lot of information dropped on your head,” Mary Margaret reminds. “These next weeks will be difficult. This is our chance to do the things grandparents do: spoil their grandkids.” Her mother is grinning, looking down at the baby with a look of wonder. Emma feels her heart tug a little; her daughter has grandparents who _love_ her. Mary Margaret looks back up with glistening eyes. “Please, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

                “Besides,” David cuts in, looking at her cautiously. “You’ll need your energy so we can talk about how to deal with the Cora situation.”

                Emma winces. Yeah, that is going to be a major problem. “I know, but –“

                David squares his shoulders. “We have a team on it right now, looking out for us. We’re safe for now, but we’ll need to be proactive later.” Emma nods slowly. Then, David’s face transforms into a grin from ear to ear, somewhat suspicious in its pure delight. “But for now, go to the loft. Take all the time you need! We’ve got the kids! Spoiling is what we’re supposed to do!”

                Henry’s looking at them oddly but shifts to be closer to his maternal grandparents. “I wouldn’t mind some spoiling, mom. And they’re right, you look tired.”

                Emma hesitates. “But she’ll need to be fed,” she protests.

                Gold comes forward at that. “The spell I used will keep her full and content for the next three hours.” There’s an odd look in his brown eyes, but she turns away from him quickly.

                Mary Margaret grins. “See? No excuse. Take those three hours to rest!” she insists. David is rummaging around the new diaper bag she got when they were discharged.

                “And if you’re longer, we have this,” he says, proudly holding the bottles of formula the hospital provided. She wants to scoff. Every nurse and doctor in that place kept telling her that breast feeding was the best option, and yet they still loaded her with formula before she left.

                “I’ll be back in three hours. Don’t use that,” she scowls, pointing at the formula with narrowed eyes. Then, she proceeds to go over every detail she has learned about Brianna’s habits.

                David and Mary Margaret grin at her as they shoo her away; she has the sneaking suspicion that she has a surprise waiting for her back at the loft. As she walks there, leaving her children in their excellent care, she wonders what it might be. She worries slightly that her mother went overboard, created a decked-out nursery or something while she was gone.

                Along the way, she sees the wolf. Its tail is wagging happily at seeing her, but it stops short before approaching. She presses her hands to her knees and pats them, calling him over. The wolf only makes a soft snort and trots in the other direction, back to where Emma came from. She stands, brow creasing in curiosity, but continues on.

                She enters the apartment, leaning against the frame. There are indeed a few gift-wrapped packages in generic wrapping paper on the table. She chuckles and half shrugs out of Graham’s jacket. She is starting to have doubts in the quietness of the room. Maybe she should have insisted that her family come with her. Maybe she should have brought Brianna and Henry. Maybe ….

                “Emma?”

                She freezes. Her mind and heart are battling; her heart is screaming that it knows that voice and her mind is simultaneous claiming it can’t be possible. Her heart is suddenly pounding in her ears. Slowly, she turns and is met with familiar blue-brown eyes. She shakes her head and backs up.

                He is looking at her with that same expression, the one he wore as he cupped her face, making her feel so damn _cherished_ , that night. He takes a hesitant step forward and she backs up again, feeling the worry build inside her.

                “You’re not him,” she says, feeling numbness climb up her body, as well as a quivering that she cannot control. “You’re … you’re Cora, trying to fool me.”

                His expression is partially pained, but he doesn’t take another step forward. Her heart climbs in her throat and she feels a sob waiting to escape. That bitch somehow knew exactly who to impersonate to truly crush her soul. At least … logic is trying to say that. Her soul screams out a different conclusion, recognizing and melding in his.

                “Emma,” he says again. His gaze is so achingly familiar, and a part of her just wants to collapse into his embrace and believe it is real. “No. I swear to you, it’s me.”

                She shakes her head again, violently this time. It can’t be. It isn’t possible and there’s no point in wishing. She held his body as it cooled, saw him in his casket, and witnessed his burial. A part of her died with him, and she has mourned him for eight months, and with her child she is _finally_ seeing beyond that. Cora is ruining her progress, sending her crashing to the ground quite spectacularly.

                But then … how would Cora know about him? How he looked? How he looked at _her_? That rational side of her is being bombarded by a quiet inkling that this is real.

                She can feel the hysterics building as she tries to stamp down the soft reassurance. “No. You can’t be. He … he died. He died! He’s _dead_!” she cries, feeling her voice climb in panic.

                He holds a hand out but doesn’t come closer. He looks away and then turns back to her, his fingers suddenly at the button on the top of his shirt. She stares him down dubiously, wondering what the plan with this is. Suddenly his chest is exposed and she sucks in a breath as she sees a scar, long and thin, in a Y along his chest and sternum. “I was, Emma. Somehow … I don’t know how, but somehow _you_ brought me back.”

                She releases a high-pitched sob. She wants to believe it, so badly. But she can’t, can she? She can’t believe it and then be disappointed all over again. She can’t let Cora get to her, not in this way. She still has her family to protect and she can’t break down over something like this. But that look … it’s like her entire being _knows_ him, tries to reason with her mind, gently whispering that it is him.

                He leans forward and reaches out a hand, cautiously taking hers. Heat shoots up her arm, intimacy in just the touch alone, a flare of recognition. He lets his thumb glide over the pulse in her wrist comfortingly, and she shivers, relaxing and tensing in the same moment _. So familiar_. He pulls her closer, and she follows stumbling forward in a daze. She can feel her breath hitch. He lays her open palm over his chest. “Do you feel the difference?” he asks, his voice curling into her stomach because she _can_. There is something different to it, something more _real_. His heart … oh, God, he found his _heart_.

                She chokes out a sob and looks up at him with new eyes. Not Cora. _Not Cora_. He is not moving an inch, but his gaze is searching and desperate.

                “It’s real this time, Emma. It’s real and I’m real and I swear to you that this is real,” he says.

                Emma feels it, deep in her bones and permeating in her soul; it intimately knows his soul, knows _him_ , can feel the truth in his statement. His hand releases her wrist, allowing her space to run, touching her skin softly before falling off, and she _knows_. “Graham,” she chokes out. He smiles at her, that familiar dimpled smile.

In response, she reaches back and slams her fist into it.

                To his credit, he rolls with it, not letting her take the brunt of the force. He keeps his face turned and she cries, slamming another hit onto his shoulder, and then another, until she is basically beating against his chest. She can’t see for the tears obscuring her vision and only the injustices fuel her continued release as she lands blows all across him. “You were dead! You were dead and you left me and I was alone!”

                He grabs her shoulders gently but firmly, and she blinks rapidly as her outburst ebbs; his eyes are heart-wrenchingly sad. “I’m so sorry, Emma. You know I didn’t want to. You know I wouldn’t have if I had a choice; I _never_ wanted to hurt you like that,” he says, willing her to see the truth in his statement.

                She pushes him back, away from her. She needs distance, so she can process this. It’s … it’s too much having him in her space. She sobs, the action wracking her body. _Everyone leaves_ , she thinks, the mantra that has been a part of her for so long – _too long_. But then she looks at him again. He came _back_ … he came back for _her_.

                She crashes her lips to his, tightening her arms around his neck. They are both crying; she can taste the salt of their tears, but she can’t get enough of him. He pulls her flush against the lean length of his body, brushes his tongue across her lips, and they part in acceptance and oh _, this is how it felt_. He smells the same, that woodsy clean scent that lingers to him, his beard catching against her skin just faintly as his soft lips draw her in further. His hands are pressed against her lower back, sinking into the flesh of her hips ever so slightly.

She breaks the kiss and presses quick, desperate kisses to his jaw line and the forming redness. She sucks in a breath, pulling back slightly to look in his eyes. They hold no anger, no bitterness, but she feels the white-hot regret still in the darkest part of her. “You were gone and I didn’t believe you,” she sobs.

He leans his forehead against hers. “Somewhere, you did. How else would I be alive when the curse broke?” he says. His smile lights his whole face, and sharp pains stab her belly as she thinks of how she really, truly thought she would never see it again.

                She tries to match it. When that fails, her hands move to trace the lines of the new scar. It barely feels like anything, barely mars his lightly tanned skin. His hands are not idle, pulling the jacket she had only half removed down her arms, to distract her.

                “So that’s where it went,” he says, a grin in his voice.

                “I suppose you can have it back,” she whispers hoarsely back. She had meant the tone to be teasing, flirty – that casual banter they used to have. Instead, she is reminded of how she thought it had been one of the last pieces of him, the only reminders of who he was. Some desperate part wants to cling to it.

                He throws it casually on the couch and smiles at her, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. It takes her a moment to realize that he’s catching leftover tears. “I think I can loan it out every once in a while,” he responds, kissing her lightly.

                There’s so much _feeling_ in his gaze, something she can’t hear him say yet. She deepens the kiss to avoid it. He somehow manages to slow the kiss, building a deeper emotion from it, that something she can barely deal with. It absolutely steals her breath. He trails his lips down her neck and she tilts back to give him better access, unashamedly moaning as her eyelids flutter.

                She has missed so much about him, but she’d be lying if she said that this wasn’t one of them. They fit seamlessly together, his body in tune with hers and his hands and mouth and tongue so very, _very_ talented. His fingers slip the buttons of her shirt off, the other hand gently massaging the small of her back, while he places open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. She aches for him, the way he can fill her like no one else, both literally and figuratively, and lets her nails rake his back under his dark blue shirt in heady anticipation.

                The buttons have all been opened and her shirt parts slightly as his mouth moves lower. Alarm bells ring in her head as the blouse catches on her chest. Her breasts are bigger, she’s forgotten. Soon, she’ll have to explain why they’re so much larger, why they are so full, why they –

                “I was pregnant,” she blurts out, the words falling past her lips in a tumble that she cannot take back.

                His lips leave her skin and he blinks rapidly, his pupils constricting as he changes focus. “Wh- what?” he asks.

                She opens her mouth, but only a squeak emerges, a nonsense syllable that expresses just how blank her mind has become. She didn’t mean to tell him that way. She closes her mouth, looking away as she tries to regain her eloquence. Or perhaps just gain it.

                He stands straighter, studying her. His breath struggles to become even as he rests gentle hands on her biceps. She can’t look up, instead studying the scar, her stomach churning.

                “Mine?” he finally asks hoarsely.

                She nods stiffly. Finally, she ventures her gaze upwards. There is a swarm of emotion in his face: fear, regret, sorrow, and loss are the ones she can read.

                She’s suddenly struck that he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Brianna, and oh, God, why did she have to be optimistic in those damn dreams? She half wants to blame Aurora for stirring them up. Now her heart’s going to break and not only hers –

                “You _were_ pregnant?” he asks, his voice breaking.

                _Oh_ , she thinks as she shakes her head and grabs his hands, squeezing them tightly in reassurance. Maybe her dreams were right. If that’s his only fear …. “No, no, nothing like that. I didn’t miscarry or … or anything,” she says, shuddering as she remembers the day she found out, the phone and the decision that weighed in her hand like a boulder.

                His eyes are searching hers, and she can see hope slowly building behind his gaze; that gives her confidence. “Oh?” he finally ventures, cautiously.

                She lets out a quaking breath. “I … I gave birth. A couple days ago. We … I, uh … there’s a baby,” she says, stumbling around her words.

                He is searching her form, his eyes bouncing back and forth before finally resting on her face, his fingers interlacing with hers in each hand. “We have a child?” he asks, longing and that rich hope in his tone.

                A slow smile crosses her face as she watches his. “Yes. We have a daughter.”

                He lips are back, crushing her against him and every emotion is ignited ten-fold. He is laughing as he parts, tears making his eyes look both bluer and murkier. Suddenly, he cups her face. “A daughter,” he repeats, sealing their lips again. “Where?” he asks.

                “With Mary Margaret and David,” she replies, burrowing her head into his chest. Those idiots, _this_ is why they wanted her here alone. His heart beats on her cheek, and the feeling stirs her blood. She finds his mouth again, curling her tongue and drinking him in. He tastes the same, that taste she can’t describe and can’t believe she had almost forgotten.

                “A baby, a girl,” he says, his breath in short pants. “Emma ….”

                “Later,” she says, pulling her shirt off, the chill of the room forming goose bumps across her skin. She needs him. She needs to see and feel every inch of him, to truly believe he is here. He traces the cotton of her bra, the look in his eye something other than lust even as she shivers in anticipation, arching into his touch. He meets her lips again, and she can feel another tear slip down his face even as the kiss deepens.

                They end up making love on the couch. They’ve been separated for eight months, yet it doesn’t feel like time was missed; they are connected in such a way that picking up from the last moment is as simple as breathing. The way he holds her is familiar in a way that aches; his fingers glide along her and sink into flesh, mouth tracing the path, making her shake. She takes more time to touch his skin, to savor the taste of him, and to memorize the way he feels inside her and the sounds he makes as he loves her. She strains to keep her eyes open even as she finds her peak, not daring to let him out of her sight even as her gaze flashes over white.

                She is catching her breath after, brushing back sweaty strands of hair and looking into his half-lidded gaze in contentment. “We should probably make it to the bed next time.”

                He shrugs lazily. “So, we’re unconventional. I can deal with that.” She shrugs back, thinking that if it means they’re together, she doesn’t really care where they are. Their damp skin pressed to one another is heavenly; every nerve is tingling, humming in the afterglow, but just looking at him feeds her soul. He trails his hand up and down her arm, looking into her eyes with an awe that she still can’t believe is for her, that she still can’t believe is in front of her. Quietly, he chuckles. “I’m sorry.”

                Her eyebrow quirks. “For this?” she asks skeptically, wondering if he is thinking about the finger-shaped bruises on her hips or the imprint of teeth on her shoulder. Both are things she secretly likes – a  lot. For everything she knows about him, she is aware that he doesn’t lose control often. Except with her. Except … it isn’t quite losing control; it’s more like losing themselves in each other.

                He shakes his head, pulling her closer, touching her nose with his. His eyes are light, happy and she can’t help the grin that crosses her face. “Once I remembered, I probably should have also recalled that you are a princess, and that I should have waited to court you and all those other formal things before making love to you.”

                She rolls her eyes dramatically, trying to deny how her pulse sped up at his word choice. “ _Please_. Do I look like I care? I am not some super pure thing you have to treat traditionally, with pretentious chivalry.”

                He smirks, his calloused fingers tracing up and down her spine. “I may have grown up with wolves, but I should have remembered that royalty does not exactly follow the same rules when they find their mate.”

                Her nose wrinkles. “Let’s not use that word in terms of ‘us’ again.”

                He laughs deeply, the sound echoing inside her. “Okay, your decree is noted, highness.”

                She grimaces and pushes his arm as his chest rumbles in mirth. On impulse, she presses another kiss on his chest, just above his heart; that _real_ , true heart that beats strongly and can’t be crushed at any moment by a jilted ex-lover. “And for the record, I’m glad we did.”

                His arms tighten around her waist, bringing her closer. A languid smile crosses his handsome face. “I am, too.”

                She considers him, tracing lazy patterns on his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense and relax as she unhurriedly explores. “You remembered, that night. About the other world,” she states.

                He nods, his eyes so deeply, darkly blue, so open and readable, that she can’t tear her gaze away. Fleetingly, she wonders if Brianna will have his eyes when they change color. “Yes. I remembered everything.”

                She bites her lip. “After we kissed.”

                A grin slowly forms over his face, and she _knows_ he is aware of what that means. “Yes.”

                She presses her lips together, eyes darting away. He is not running from it, nor would she have expected him to. The surprise is that _she_ isn’t. He kisses the corner of her lips sweetly, the tender action reminding her of all that she could have missed. “Thank you,” she finally says, an echo of his words, so long ago.

                 His eyes flutter shut, a serene smile on his lips. He doesn’t answer and she is thankful for it. After a moment, his fingers tangle in her hair and he presses his face in it. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”

                She nods. “Either the hormones or the prenatal pills … it was growing like crazy.”

                She can actually feel his smile against her skin, teeth scraping lightly against her neck, and her stomach tightens in delight. “I just can’t believe it. A daughter,” he murmurs in a tone that truly expresses his incredulity as he pulls back. His hand slides down to her middle, his eyes distant as if imagining it in distention. “All this time I’ve been gone, and you … you were carrying our child,” he says, voice breaking.

                The pressure builds behind her eyes as she realizes how much she needs to tell him, how much she needs to show him. All this time she has been lamenting what she can’t have and now it is _right_ _here_. They will get to raise her together, be a family together, experience life together, be _together_. It can’t fail this time, it can’t. It has to be right this time; he has to stay. Her soul couldn’t take it otherwise. “Brianna. I named her Brianna Marie.”

                “Brianna,” he says softly, as if testing the name against his tongue. It sounds even more perfect in his brogue. “We have a daughter named Brianna,” he says, beaming down at her.

                She bites her lip. “If you don’t like it ….”

                He shakes his head, meeting her eyes again. “No. I love it. Our Brianna,” he breathes. She feels lightheaded when he says it. His fingers dance across her skin. “I want … is it too soon … could we see her?” he asks.

                She grins, leaning up on one arm and looking down at him. He is beautiful: in this light, in this moment, with that expression, in this _life_. She is overwhelmed by merely his presence, and his continued awe at their new and hastily stitched-together family has her heart twisting and thrashing to make room for all the love she has for him.

                She wonders if he is a mirror of her with his mussed hair and swollen lips. She tastes them again, just to be sure hers are just as bruised. She is suddenly eager to see the look on his face as he meets his daughter. “Let’s get dressed.”

                He catches her before she rises, pulling her to him. Their foreheads meet and then their noses are touching, and her stomach drops. It is too close to their final moments last time. He releases a shuddering breath and then slowly breathes her in. She knows what he will say before it emerges from his throat. “I love you.”

                She swallows, and her mind is paralyzed. She doesn’t know why this is so difficult. She has admitted to her family, to a very foreign princess, to an idiotic ex-boyfriend, and to an eccentric pirate that she loves this man. She feels it as sure as she feels the air in her lungs. She knows they have true love, has felt it and has been told it, has the physical evidence for it.

                She just can’t seem to tell him now. He is nuzzling her neck, and she can tell that he is not expecting a spoken answer. Somehow, that makes her want to tell him more, even though the words are still stuck in her vocal cords like a fly in a web.

                Instead, she grasps him, meeting his lips fervently. _He won’t leave, he won’t disappear_ , she reminds herself, the words bordering on frantic.  She rises over him and carefully sinks onto him once more. She leans down and melts into his kiss, feeling his strong arms pull her tight. She can tell him in this way again. It’s all she can do for now.

                And they have the time. She’ll use every bit of it convincing herself that their happy ending is real.

 


	27. Graham (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hello, all! Hope you had an excellent holiday season! For those who haven’t seen, I’ve posted the first one-shot that ties in with this verse on FF.net (the rest won’t come until the story is done). No dialogue or episode spoilers this chapter. Just some Gremma feels.
> 
> Thanks to La Lisboa, my fabulous beta!! Read I See the Light now, people. It is far too excellent.

 

                He shouldn’t feel this comfortable.

                Logically, he knows he should have a lot of hang-ups. He has been abandoned, enslaved, and abused in many, many ways. He should have very real, very understandable issues based in intimacy especially. In some cases, it is clear that he _does_ have those issues. But somehow, lying with Emma, touching her, making love to her, _being_ with her … it is just _right_. He has absolute faith in her, trusts her in a way he can’t explain. She has never done anything to show that his trust is unfounded; in fact, her trust in him despite her own issues is partially what makes him able to bridge the gap. 

                He pulls her closer whenever she drifts back, kissing between retrieving clothes, relishing in the blush that overtakes her whenever he does.

                It’s only when they’re done dressing that he notices that the bracelet on her wrist is new, not the twin delicate strands with the metallic rivets that glowed in the low light. It instead looks like a lace, wound and tied meticulously around her left wrist. He catches her arm curiously, feeling the ridges in the fabric.

                She turns and looks back at him and then smiles at the bracelet thoughtfully. “I stole it from one of your boots.”

                He pauses, brushing the skin underneath it, the tattoo that he barely notices now. “Why?” he murmurs.

                She shrugs. “It was when … when I decided … ugh,” she says and he is silent, understanding that this is all hard for her. He knows how she was, with how much difficultly she handles her emotion. She is blinking rapidly, so he pulls her closer. She gratefully accepts his wordless offer, leaning into his embrace. She sighs against his chest, and it’s like he can feel her get a rein on her emotions. “I had just won the election. Gold had left me some of your things before … I don’t even know why.”

                “Election?” he asks, trailing a hand down her back comfortingly.

                She pushes back, regaining herself. “It was the best way for me to become sheriff after …,” she trails off, eyes full of pain as she looks at him, and he doesn’t need her to finish. She shakes her head. “Anyway, I won. And a few days after, I realized I was late.”

                Graham lets his lashes flick over his cheeks, trying to imagine what that would mean to her, how she would have reacted to her pregnancy. He’s finds himself feeling proud that she had the strength to stay sane. To not run, as he had feared she would so many times in those early days.

                She’s concentrating on the bracelet now, twisting it around her arm. “Anyway, I had made a couple decisions. No one knew. But in the box, there were the boots so I just … I just took a lace.”

                “No one knew?” he echoes.

                She sucks a breath through her teeth. “I didn’t want … Regina or anyone to find out. August _accidentally_ found out, but he didn’t even talk with me about it ever. I just …. It was a secret I kept to myself … and you, in spirit. I was about six months before Mary Margaret found out.”

                He grasps her forearm, letting his fingers trail up and down the limb in comfort. Six months, alone with the knowledge and duty thrust on her. He pulls her close, resting his forehead on her temple, wishing so much that things had been different. “I wish I could have been there. That you didn’t have to pretend with an old shoelace.”

                She winces, trying to cover the wounds he can see behind her sea-shaded eyes. “I don’t know. It was something of you. Something tangible. I just … really needed that.”

                He presses a kiss to her forehead, closing his stinging eyes. He tries to imagine how it would be if he _had_ been there. If he had held her when they found out they were going to be parents. If he had seen her belly expand slowly, full with their child. If he had been there to support her through the whirlwind of emotion, to learn together how to prepare. To see his child enter the world, as she had mere days before. “I’m so sorry. I want so much to just go back and be with you at every step.”

                She pulls back, meeting his eye. Swimming in that green-blue gaze is a sort of happiness he’s never seen, at least never directed toward him. “It’s okay. You’re here now. You’ll be there for every moment of her life,” she says, forcefulness in her tone that betrays her projected optimism.

                A warmth fills him. He has never imagined having children of his own. Not when he was alone in the forest, not when he was alone in Storybrooke, not even when he dared to hope that he and Emma could be together. It just never occurred to him that someone would want that with him, that someone would want to _bless_ him like that. Now, he has a little girl, a daughter, and her mother is this heroic woman that is his true love and is offering him _home_. He thinks that it’s rather insane that he has been blessed in this way. “Brianna,” he breathes again, still not quite believing it. He meets her lips in a simple, sweet kiss.

                She frowns suddenly, playing with his sleeve. “I gave her the last name Swan. I’ll have to get that changed.”

                He shakes his head. That wouldn’t make any sense to him. “No, that’s okay. It’s your name. Mine was just given to me by the curse.”

                She grimaces. “Mine was given to me in the foster system,” she reminds him.

                He leans in closer. “But your name means something to you. I don’t mind that our daughter shares it.” _Our daughter_ , he thinks, feeling the words bloom tingles throughout his body. 

                Creases form between her brows as she looks up at him. “Really?”

                He nods, grinning. “Besides, I think Swan is just a tad prettier than Humbert, don’t you?”

                She chuckles, the reaction he was vying for. ”I don’t know; in your accent, both are pretty damn appealing,” she admits. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her soundly. She is still smiling as they part, and he finds he can’t make his own grin disappear. “What about your other name?” she asks.

                He shakes his head. “Didn’t have one. Not really needed when you live with wolves. And the townspeople simply called me Huntsman.”

                She raises her eyebrows. “So, not a figure of speech, then? The wolf thing? I mean, I know there’s the one that follows us around, but ….” 

                “Not really,” he says with a shrug. He thinks of the woman whose features he can make out sharply, those resolute grey-green eyes. “Perhaps my birth parents named me, but I’ll never know.”

                She frowns, her hands resting on the nape of his neck, curling into his hair. “Our childhoods weren’t exactly great for directing us how to parent, were they?”

                His stomach is fluttering, excitement and anticipation beating through his system. “I think we’ll manage,” he grins, ready to leave the loft to find Snow and David, so he can meet his child. “Where will they be?”

                She turns, pulling a jacket, _his_ jacket, over her shoulders, and he grins at how automatic the action is. “Granny’s. I really hope Neal and Gold aren’t there, too,” she says, grumbling.

                He grabs her hand, squeezing it in reassurance. At some point they’ll have to discuss how Henry’s other family will fit into their lives, but right now he only wants to see his child, this person he unknowingly made with Emma. “Let’s go.”

                As they trek to Granny’s, Emma curls into him. “I’m going to have to have a long talk with my parents about keeping you a secret,” she growls.

                His hands tighten around her waist. “It was my fault. They said that you were finishing ‘Stiltskin’s deal, and I wanted you to be able to complete it with no worries. And they thought it likely wasn’t information to be said over the phone.”

                She sighs and closes her eyes. “I’m too tired to yell at you for it. I think I’m done yelling at you, in fact,” she says, reaching a hand to rub his bruising jaw. Then she tilts her head up. “When _did_ you come back?”

                “After the curse broke. I found your father and Henry that evening, after I woke with my memories. The only reason I wasn’t there when you returned from the Enchanted Forest was because of Gold’s plan.”

                Emma stops abruptly. “Gold’s plan?”

                He nods. “He figured you wouldn’t uphold your deal if you knew I was alive.”

                Her eyes flick to his and steady flames of anger, not directed at him, ignite in it. “All this time, you were with David. And you didn’t know about Brianna,” she states.

                He shakes his head, slowing realizing her conclusion. “Em, I’m sure he had a reason.”

                She grabs his hand, pulling him back in the direction of Granny’s with renewed purpose. Before they reach the door, he tugs her back to him. Her eyes are still flaming, but are also shining with moisture. 

                “Emma,” he start, pulling a hand through the length of her hair. “Let’s just focus on the fact that I know now. I need your help if I’m to be meeting my daughter for the first time.”

                Her gaze softens slightly. “I know. I just … they piss me off sometimes. They’re always thinking they know better than I do what’s best for me, and now they’re doing the same to you.”

                “They’re your parents, Emma,” he reminds gently.

                An eye twitches and she takes his hand. “It’s just different. I’m okay with Mary Margaret. Sometimes … sometimes I can even think of her as mom, even though she’s _younger_ than me,” she says with a grimace. “It’s just David. He was this home-wrecking asshole who hurt my best friend in so many ways, and now I’m just supposed to look at him as my _father_? How am I supposed to do that, especially when he’s making these stupid decisions?”

                He sighs and pulls her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “I don’t have the answer to that.” He does feel a little wounded at the fact that no one felt the need to tell him that he was going to be a father, but the looming meeting has his heart swelling more than it is breaking. “But you will figure it out, because for all his faults, he is a good man. And he loves you.”

                She leans back, a small smile on her face. She can’t voice the words, he knows this, but he can see the love shining in her eyes as clear as anything else. She looks like she may actually say it, but then she looks away sharply. “Let’s go inside.”

                He turns, and then cocks his head to the side as he sees his brother on the side of the building, protectively watching the entrance from the alleyway. He smiles in understanding, grabbing Emma’s hand again.

                The door chimes as they enter, and he is so intent on finding the Charmings that he doesn’t see Henry until he barrels into him. “Graham! I’m so sorry! He made me forget you!”

                He pulls an arm around him, unsure who he means, but at least fairly certain it was Gold. “Not _your_ fault, Henry.”

                He sniffs, pulling back slightly. His face is reddened, eyes guilty, and mouth set in a frown. “But I didn’t tell you about my sister, either. I knew but I kept it a secret anyway.” Graham shakes his head, but Henry is already turning those big eyes on Emma. “Mom, I’m so sorry I got so angry at you. I did the same thing. I lied to Graham about Brianna and –“

                “Henry, no. That’s not the same. And you had every right to be mad,” Emma says firmly, pushing back the boy’s hair from his forehead.

                Henry looks back at him for confirmation, and Graham nods in reassurance. “She’s right, Henry. I’m not upset with you. I know you must’ve had good reasons for it.”

                The boy gives a slight smile and hugs him again. “I’m still sorry,” he says.

                Graham quirks a smile, hugging him back. “It’s okay. I accept your apology, but you didn’t even need it.” He turns slightly and rests a hand on the small of Emma’s back, sensing her emotions heightening. Their gazes meet and she nods.

                “Henry, want to take Graham to meet your sister?” she asks, eyes still locked onto his as she smiles.

                The boy gives a tentative smile and hesitantly slips his small hand in his. “We’re in the back room ‘cause Granny said we could be, to get away from everyone looking.” 

                He swallows thickly, grabbing Emma’s hand in a tight grasp as they move forward. He feels like he is moving in a dream, his steps heavy. He doesn’t want to rush, but at the same time, he does. He wants to burst into that back room and hold his child and Emma and Henry and never leave from that protective bubble of something called family. Something he’s never had, not in a human sense. On the other hand, he feels certain insecurities and fears surfacing; he worries about his ability to be a father. He’s had no preparation, not even the thought that it could happen. He doesn’t know how to hold a child, to comfort one. He’ll be running blind with this little person expecting him to be able to do everything a father can. He wants to be that person, but he’s just not sure he _can_ be.

                They enter the room, and are met immediately by a smiling Snow. In her arms already, bundled in a blanket and warm clothing, is Brianna. And every thought, every hope and fear, flies out of his head. 

There is only this moment. 

                He feels light-headed, like he could collapse at any moment. Emma’s firm grasp and solid presence are the only things keeping him upright. 

                “Graham, this is your daughter,” Emma says, her voice thick with emotion, taking the infant from her mother’s arms. The tiny being sighs, shifting as she is moved, eyelids parting to reveal clear blue eyes. Snow moves to his side.

                “Like this,” Snow murmurs, telling him to support her head and neck especially, and positioning his hands and arms into a ready position. Emma slips the baby into the new space and his heart rate accelerates as the weight falls against him, panic climbing and muscles stiffening in concern.

                “Brianna, this is your father,” Emma finishes in a tone just above a whisper against his cheek, adjusting them just a bit so he is no longer holding her awkwardly, her body more comfortably resting against his chest. The title of father does funny things to his heart and brain, twisting them and unfurling them all at once.

                He feels pressure on his shoulders and looks back to see Snow. “Go ahead and sit, daddy,” she says, grinning.

                He takes the offered chair, pressing his child close. He looks down at her, the little girl not making a sound. She is so small. He couldn’t have imagined someone so small. Wispy dark hair peeks from under a pink hat with tiny animal ears. Her cheeks are full, pudgy, and her rosy lips are parted slightly. She is looking right up at him, long lashes falling slowly shut and then opening again, and he is transfixed by her gaze. His breath catches in his throat, eyes burning as he stares at her. A tear slips down his cheek and a chuckle emerges from his chest, surprising himself. He grins at her, bringing one of his hands free as his comfort rises, and he traces a line across her brow. Her eyes fall shut as he strokes the smooth skin, down tiny nose and cupid’s bow. Her head turns, seeking his finger and he lets his hand dart away before resting on her tiny hand, letting her grasp it tightly. He smiles, using a thumb to trace her delicate fingers and miniscule fingernails.  She is _beautiful_. 

                He looks up, seeing that Emma is sitting right beside him, tears falling down her face. He can see the pain and joy on her face and he realizes – she thought she’d never see this. He doesn’t have the words now to thank her, to tell her how much he is feeling at this moment with their baby so warmly in his embrace.

                Henry pops over his shoulder, startling him slightly. “Isn’t she pretty?” he asks, his eyes fixated on his sister’s. The boy’s face is soft and awestruck, filled with adoration. He recalls that there is another man with a claim on Henry, and that Regina is still out there. But right now, all he sees when he looks at Henry is _family_. This is _his_ family. 

                He takes a deep breath, calming himself. “She is, Henry,” he answers simply. 

                He glances to the side to see Snow and David, wrapped up in each other, staring them down with equal looks of empathy. He remembers that they never got this with Emma, never got to hold her for longer than the time it took for the curse to cover the land. 

                He looks back down at Brianna, this little person he helped create, and promises to never take her for granted. He will cherish her every moment, knowing how easily it could have been for him to remain beneath the ground instead of magically resurrected. How easily he could have missed this moment and all to come. He will protect her with everything in him, he will learn how to be the best father he can be, and she will _always_ know how wanted and loved she is.

                His daughter. It still does not compute in his mind, even as she squirms against him, snuggling closer. Her hair is his, as is her nose and the way her lips curve. He can see these things, recognize them from his image. He can find the many features she shares with Emma, and how their attributes mix and meld. Yet even then, it does not seem possible. It doesn’t seem _real_. 

                Emma’s arm is suddenly gripping his bicep, temple resting on his shoulder. “This doesn’t seem real,” she murmurs, echoing his thoughts. He is glad she is feeling it, too, even if her impossibility stems from his being alive.

                He shifts and places a kiss on her cheek and then leans down. He breathes in deeply, smelling the clean, new scent of Brianna’s skin. He lets his lips glide along her forehead, shuddering as he finally, finally believes. 

                _Mine_ , his heart screams out, encompassing the entirety of the people around him, that territoriality stemming from his upbringing. He so desperately wants it all, deep inside still that boy clinging on Fionn’s arm wishing to belong and knowing he didn’t. But as Emma curls closer, Henry giggles over his shoulder, and Snow and David grin, he realizes. No, not just his. 

_Ours_.

 

 


	28. Neal (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hey guys! Just a note on Neal here: he is in an emotional state, and so is Graham. They are not at their most behaved. No dialogue or spoilers in this chapter.
> 
> Sorry this is so late. I had some issues with this chapter, and not enough time to deal with them due to everyone at work getting sick at once.
> 
> Extra thanks to La Lisboa this week for putting up with this chapter that didn’t want to be written.

                Neal plays absently with the straw paper, twisting it and tearing the edges over and over. The old woman behind the counter tosses glares his direction every few minutes. The waitress with the dark hair slams down his orders with more force than is truly necessary. The drunk in the corner grumbles increasingly violent curses under his breath, clearly directed at him, from his stool a couple feet away.

                Apparently, they’ve heard of him.

                He sighs, leaning back and twirling the straw in his drink. 

                Coming back into this life was strange. He has been trying to avoid his father at all costs, leaving him in the dust on the docks. He had trailed behind Emma’s parents, following them back to the center of town. There, he had awkwardly introduced himself to the couple. Neither of them had been warm in their greeting of him. Her father had looked at him as if he had said he was the Devil incarnate. Her mother had been coldly indifferent, offering a stiff greeting. He is aware that these are not their personalities; they had been enviously loving to both the infant and Henry. 

                Finding out he has a son has not been … easy. He’s gone through at least twenty shades of emotions, interrupted briefly by his ex-girlfriend’s preterm labor and subsequent hospitalization. He wants to know this boy, this kid he had with Emma so long ago. He’s already developed his personality, his morals, and he is closer to adulthood than he is to the newborn his mom just had. He has lost more than a decade in getting to know his son. 

                And getting to know the kid has been difficult. First off, he doesn’t know what to say to him. At least on the boat ride over, they had fallen naturally into conversations about sailing. He had been able to scrounge through his old instructions, pushing past memories of the pirate and focusing on star navigation and raising sails. He loved to hear Henry’s appreciation in laughs and eager questions for more. Even those happy moments, however, were interrupted by “family time” with his new sister.

                And then again today, Henry had to divide his time between his grandparents and himself. When it was finally his turn, he was at a loss. His mind had blanked out, suddenly uncomfortable with having the pressure of his son in front of him. After a while, Henry had been content enough sitting across from him and blowing milk bubbles. Their silence had almost been companionable until Emma came back with a tall, bearded man. It became clear that this person was Graham, the old sheriff whom Henry spoke of fondly. The boy, his son, had hugged the man around the waist, and the man’s actions were so _natural_ with him. They worked in tandem, twisting and talking easily, even when Henry’s eyes filled with tears. Green was never a color he enjoyed on himself, but he couldn’t help his emotions in that matter.  

                 The three had disappeared behind closed doors hours ago. He had taken a walk around, but ultimately found he had nowhere else to go, especially since he didn’t want to run into his father. He returned to the diner and now he is stuck, by himself, being stared down by hostile fairytale creatures.

                He knows this could be remedied by leaving completely. He could walk out, get a car, drive back to New York, back to his fiancée and his life. Away from his father, away from the memories. But he has to try. He has to prove to himself that he can be a better father than his was. That he can even be better than that tall, scruffy former Huntsman that Emma looked at with love. 

                He sighs and pushes the plate of fries away from him. Henry had half-explained how magic had revived the man from the dead, holes in the explanation all over the place. He thought of all the people in his life that were lost, people close to him and the ones his father had brutally murdered. The idea that someone could just be _wished_ back into existence from the power of True Love or whatever just seems ridiculous. Even knowing about magic. _Especially_ knowing about magic. His dad used to be especially fond of the saying that dead is dead, but even he seemed to be content with the explanation for the unexpected resurrection. 

                The door finally opens, Henry emerging first with a beaming smile. Emma and the man are next, Emma’s daughter clutched in his arms. The waitress runs up, congratulating the pair and expressing her happiness enthusiastically, with wide, sweeping hand gestures. The old woman even nudges Graham, giving him a wink of approval. Graham’s look is humble, hand stroking the back of the infant as he graciously accepts the kind words. They all accept him, readily, with open arms. 

                Neal is already in a foul mood when they approach.

                Graham gives a slight smile, politeness and leftover happiness covering distrust. “You must be Neal,” he says, surprising him with his Irish accent. Well, Irish in this world. He forgot what realm in the Enchanted Forest it corresponds to. Unless he was a pirate. He knew at least one pirate with the accent. His lip twitched in memory. It won’t be hard to dislike this new man in Emma’s life, not with so many things against him.

                He nods stiffly, rising half out of his seat. “That would make you Graham,” he says.

                He bobs his head, shifting the baby and offering his hand. Neal takes it, making sure to put more strength than usual into the shake. Graham’s brow quirks slightly, but more in amusement than anything else. “I hear I need to come up to speed with a few things,” he says, glancing slightly at Henry. “But I think we should all be prepared for Cora’s potential arrival.”

                Henry’s gaze darts back and forth to all of them. “Cora might be here, right? The Queen of Hearts? Regina’s mom? Because of Captain Hook?” he asks, and he can tell the poor kid’s trying to figure out just how twisted his family tree is.

                “Yeah. And she’s really bad, Henry. Worse than anything you’ve seen. So, we’re going to need to be extra careful,” Emma replies. She looks between the adults next. “She tried her hardest to prevent us from coming back; we had a lot of near misses. I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to fight her off anymore.”

                Graham’s brow furrows in silent question and even Neal thinks something doesn’t add up in that statement. “Shouldn’t it be easier without worrying about _that_?” he asks, gesturing glibly to the baby in the other man’s arms.

                Emma narrows her eyes at the slight, but lets it go, shaking her head. “I had double the power with her. Now, it’s just me.”

                “Because you’re both products of true love!” Henry cuts in, grinning from ear to ear. The kid is way too excitable when it comes to magic.

                Emma and Graham share a look, flushed faces and secret smiles being traded as the baby is cradled closer and Henry’s hair is pushed back. Neal takes back what he said before, when he first saw her again. He is not so happy that she found her Tallahassee elsewhere. Especially one that overshadows him so completely. They look like a family, all of them, and it kills him. That is _his_ son, and he will fight for the right to be his parent.

                Graham looks away, letting the smile slide partially off his face, and sighs. “Your parents have convened their old war council. They are all willing to help us in any way possible. But there is still no sign of …,” he trails off, looking at Henry with soft eyes. “Regina,” he finishes gently.

                “Do you think my mom will be in on it?” Henry ask, his voice small. His eyes are wide, worried and sad. Neal’s heart twists. His son looked to this woman as his mother, someone he loved very much. The idea that she could be going after his family must be hard for Henry to swallow. Kind of how it was hard to swallow the idea that his mom had left him, her son, her light, for a pirate.

                “Your mom wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” Neal jumps in. Henry told him a little about his adoptive mom, and it at least sounded like she loves the kid. He wants to give the boy some hope.

                Emma and Graham have another one of those looks, one that says they are in silent conversation, making decisions and agreeing. It’s kind of sickening to watch. “Regina wouldn’t hurt Henry. But she would be more than willing to get to one of us,” Emma finally says slowly, her gaze regarding her boyfriend with sadness that he can’t comprehend.

                Neal has at least been briefed on the deal with Snow White and the Evil Queen, piecing what he remembered of the movies with the little information he had been given to fill missing pieces. Grudges are at least something he knows about. He wonders how they will get out of this unscathed. “And Regina will definitely be sided with this Cora?” he asks. The Queen of Hearts. His whole mind still shudders at the fact that he has to get back in this mindset of fairytale counterparts.

                Graham nods. “She’s a lot of things, but she can be quite predictable. We need to keep the kids out of this,” he says, tightening his hold on the baby.

                Emma bites her lip, her hand resting on his arm. “Let’s go feed her. Then we’ll come back and talk about battle plans, okay?”

                Graham shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. You can go feed her, but I’ll stay back. I’ll try and see if I can get Neal’s ideas on a few things,” he says. 

                Emma looks over her boyfriend cautiously, before taking his hand and squeezing it. “Okay.” The baby is transferred, the man’s eyes nauseatingly large and sad as Emma walks to the back with her children. Henry is attached to Emma’s hip, staring at the infant until they have sequestered themselves back in the room.

                “So, is there half of a plan in motion or are we just going to sit here and wait for something to happen?” Neal asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, stuck in this town full of everything he had spent years avoiding. He doesn’t want to share his son with this man that everyone considers better than him.

                The other man’s eyes close and he expels a deep breath. “I’m still trying to get my bearings here. I just met my daughter,” he says, eyes trained searchingly on the door.

                “Yeah? Well, I just met my son two days ago after not knowing about him for eleven years. Emma never cared about telling me about him,” he replies sourly. He can one-up this man’s pain any day. And his insides do claw with the emotion; seeing Henry, how old he is, how smart, how compassionate … he could have known that for _years_. He _should_ have known that for years.

                Graham turns dark eyes on him. “I’m sure her mind was elsewhere after you sent her to jail,” he bites back. Then he shakes his head. “Whatever, this isn’t the time or the place.”

                His blood is boiling _._ If he had a choice, it would have never happened. He would have gotten the hell away and never given August the information about the meeting place. But after learning who she was, he knew that staying with her would eventually bring his father to him. And somehow it still meant that. He slides his hands through his hair, frustration pooling. _If Graham wanted to bring this all up, then they should leave it all out_. 

                “Why stop now? You obviously have something to say,” he baits.

                Graham takes a deep breath, his eyes still hard. “No,” he says simply. Then he fumbles in his pocket before pulling out a piece of paper. “Look. Here is a map of the town and the surrounding forest. We’ve been sending very tentative probes and have eliminated certain sections where they won’t be hiding. Any ideas you can give us would be helpful.”

                He doesn’t know what to think of this man, with his honorable manners and rough speech, but snatches the map from his fingers hastily. He looks down. It is pretty basic, a basic map of the town and surrounding areas concisely printed. Over it are dark pen marks, with most of the populated areas crossed out with a precise hand. Certain parts of the forest are circled, others checked off. He begins to study it curiously. He likes maps. They give order, control, both things he craves. “What’s this here?” he asks, pointing to a section near the trees that has a check mark and a star point.

                “The cemetery. The crypt was checked on once, but we thought it could get another look through since we found a collection beneath the coffin.”

                “Collection?” he asks, turning it slightly to get a better look at the details of the map. It looks like a basic cemetery, not a potential for an underground labyrinth of magic. Then again, that sounds exactly like the sort of thing someone from the old world would bring over.

                “Of basically everything magical Regina brought to this world. Spell books, potion jars, keepsakes, … hearts,” Graham says, and Neal can hear a bit of malice come through.

                Neal shakes his head. “If you’ve found it, then she’s likely got what she needed and bailed. She won’t be coming back to it.”

                Graham raises a hand to his temple, absently rubbing. “Likely, but not necessarily. If she’s realized she’s missed something or needs something else, she’ll be back. We still have eyes on the area.”

                He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, it’s a waste of resources.”

                Graham grits his teeth and he feels slightly prideful that he can break the other man’s veneer. Maybe if he cracks it enough, he can prove to himself that he is better. That the person everyone reveres so much is truly just a façade over something more sinister. That’s what he found in his father when he pressed hard enough. That’s what he found in Hook. 

                “Then where do you suggest we place our ‘resources’?” Graham asks.

                Neal shrugs. “Wherever else you need them. Just not there.”

                Graham sighs, scrubbing his face with his fingers. “Look, I’m not going to let people off that area when Regina could swoop back in and take someone else’s heart –“

                “Is that what this is about? You’re afraid she’ll take some hearts?” he asks, leaning back with a furrowed brow.

                Graham glares at him. “If there is still a chance to get people reunited with their hearts, I’m taking it. You don’t know what it’s like to live without one.”

                “And you do?” he challenges.

                “Yes. Now, can we move on?” he says, pulling the map back toward himself. Neal lets his eyes narrow on him, but Graham is on to the next subject before he can question it further. “Her manor is not where she’ll be; it’s too obvious and there was nothing there that she would want. Also, it is situated right near some other residences, so it doesn’t need the constant surveillance. _Now_ , is there anything else you can think of?”

                He is silent a moment, considering the man in front of him more than the situation. Finally, he nods. “The Jolly Roger. We brought it back just now, but we’ve kind of abandoned it. If that’s how they got here in the first place … well, we didn’t exactly check the hulls.”

                “You didn’t,” he says flatly. 

                “There were a couple other things that needed doing, including, oh, I don’t know, _bonding with the son that I haven’t seen in eleven years_ ,” he retorts.

                Graham chuckles mirthlessly, pressing against the bridge of his nose. “Are we back to that? Please tell me you aren’t blaming Emma. She didn’t get a chance to raise him because you sent her to prison for a year, if you recall.”

                “She could have told me,” he responds sullenly.

                His eyebrows rise in disbelief. “Because you had proven yourself such a decent human being?” he counters.

                Neal growls under his breath. Who is this guy to tell him how to live his life? He had spent half a decade in Canada, hiding as a fugitive. He had spent the better part of the last five years running around Manhattan, doing jobs under the table. He only recently was able to change his social a little, gaining a legitimate job at a start-up. He finally found someone he really loves and is willing to see his future for what it could be. He was finally getting his life in order! 

                “I don’t need this,” Neal grinds out. “I have a life back in New York. I have an apartment, a job, and a beautiful fiancée waiting for me. I don’t need to take shit from you because of something I did eleven years ago.”

                “Except that you’re punishing Emma for something she did then. You can’t do that and expect not to be held accountable,” he replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

                The two sit in tense silence for a bit, staring each other down. 

                “Now,” Graham says, sliding the paper back to him. “The Jolly Roger. We should find the best way to search it, especially if we expect that one of them may be on board.”

                Neal grabs the paper, glaring at the other man. He points to him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my life. Don’t keep making inferences based on one side of the story.”

                Graham’s eyes flash. “You don’t know me, either. You don’t even really know them. And you don’t know what Emma and Henry mean to me. Don’t expect that I will automatically accept and make allowances for you just because of who you are.”

                He sits back, letting his chest rumble in anger before blowing out a low breath. “I am his father and I should get a chance to be that,” he says.

                To his surprise, the other man nods in agreement. “You should. Henry deserves it. But that doesn’t mean that it is owed to you.”

                He glares at Graham, but he has no response. They are at a standstill, neither willing to back down as they both feel righteous in their argument.       

                “The Jolly Roger,” Graham presses finally, bringing him back to the task at hand.

                He looks away. “I think we should take a small team first, search the surrounding area. Then, we infiltrate the ship and do a systematic check of the hulls. If we don’t find them, I’m willing to bet there will be something more left behind to give us a better idea of who we’re after.”

                Graham’s brow furrows. “Captain Hook lived on this vessel. You think knowing about him will lead us to where he might hide here,” he deduces.

                He nods. “I think it’s a start.”

                Graham nods, rising. “I’m going to tell Emma and her parents. And then we’re going together.”

                He jerks his head up. “Wait, what? Us?”

                He grins. “Consider it a way to give you a chance. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

                Neal drops his head to the counter and groans. _Great_.


	29. Killian (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you all so much! Another rating reminder; this fic is also T for mentioned violence.
> 
> So sorry that this chapter’s coming a week late. I wanted to get back on my real schedule, and this gave my beta La Lisboa enough time to use her active muse to update I See The Light. Go read it!
> 
> No spoilers/dialogue from the show in this chapter.

 

                Killian searches through the hull in a blind panic. He needs to find something, a leftover potion, a magical charm, _something_ to be able to protect himself from Cora. He has egregiously failed in his mission, the task that was meant to fulfill both his and the Mills women’s needs, and he has no delusions of their gracious forgiveness in this matter. He needs anything that may save him.

                He rummages through the trinkets, almost knocking over Milah’s shelf in the progress, grumbling to himself all the while. Finally, he finds something that may be useful in the bottom of an overturned drawer. It’s a ring that fits just so on his pinky finger, a polished black stone in the grip of its silver band. It will grant him invisibility when he wears it. He slips it on, feeling the wash of magic over his body. He can’t even remember where he got it from. He stole it, no doubt, but he just can’t place when. Anyway, it’s a start.

                He goes back into his search, looking for more things to arm himself with, when he hears male voices arguing and footsteps descending into the body of the ship. Curiously, he stops and rises from his place on the floor. 

                “If you’re going to go around telling me how to live my life, then you better have something to back it up with,” the first man says, leaning against the last step while throwing a glare to the man above him. 

                Killian sucks in a breath. It is Baelfire. He saw him, briefly, while getting to Rumplestiltskin, but now he has time to actually study him. He is so much older than the frightened little pre-teen wrecked upon the waves of Neverland. He looks like a man. His stature is closer to his father’s than his mother’s, but his hair is that darkened color that his Milah had. He can see pieces of her in him, and he craves the image. 

                “I’m not telling you how to live your life. I’m just saying that if you’re going to be around, you need to actually learn something about Henry,” the second man grumbles. 

                The accent pricks his ears, similar to his own but with a more Eastern tone. As the second man steps into the cabin, he recognizes him. It is Emma’s love, the man that rose from the dead. It is strange to see him so close up. When Killian told Cora that the man’s eyes reminded him of his father’s, he hadn’t been lying. In fact, there is a lot that reminds him of that bastard. Common, he supposes, since the man’s accent showed he would have grown up near the same area. 

                Perhaps his brute of a father had more offspring. He bristles at the idea of this being some nephew or cousin of his own. He quickly dashes the idea. He doubts his father would have procreated with someone else, and Liam had never quite taken to women. Even so, he still can’t shake the idea that Emma’s boyfriend looks so inextricably familiar, even taking his eye color out of the equation.

                “And I think that’s your way of saying you know more about Henry than I do,” Baelfire attests, disrupting the items on the desk with a quick jab. Apparently Bae hadn’t gotten a rein on his temper in the years since he’s seen him.

                The other man (Graham, was it?) sighs, pulling a hand through messy curls. “If you want to get right down to it, then, yes, I do know more about Henry than you. I’ve known him for the majority of his life. But I am not saying that this means that you _can’t_ know him.”

                “Of course I will know him! I’m his damn father!” Bae counters angrily, sweeping some of the papers to the floor. 

                Killian staggers back a bit, surprised at the news. Bae has a child? That boy, Henry, whom he had barely seen … that child has Milah’s blood running through his veins. If he hadn’t already been set on protecting this family, he would have dropped everything for it now. His resolve is strengthening.

                Graham sighs, leaning against the wall as he shakes his head. “I’m tired of fighting you, Neal, and we’ve only just met. Let’s at least pretend to get along, shall we? Henry’s got enough to deal with, and so does Emma. So do we, for that matter. Let’s just focus on working together to find Cora and Regina, and then worry about the rest.”

                Baelfire sneers. “Whatever,” he responds in grudging concession.

                Graham bends, picking up a few sheets of paper that had fallen to the floor. “The pirate’s an artist?” he asks.

                “No. My mother was,” Bae replies sullenly, and Killian smiles in memory. She was. She had been an excellent artist with a steady hand, one that translated to her skill in archery and needlepoint and fencing. A truly amazing woman.

                Graham is flipping through some of the artwork and pauses, landing on the image of Milah herself. Killian remembers her drawing it, her brow furrowed as he described her likeness to her, occasionally glancing into a mirror. She had drawn it for him, taking care in trying to make the self-portrait accurate and not romantic. It is the image that caused Bae’s distrust, so many years ago. 

                Graham is studying the picture intently. “Your mother?” he asks quietly, the words hanging like they weighed heavily. Bae doesn’t respond, and he brings a hand to brush along the pencil marks. “Grey-green,” he murmurs as a finger reaches her eyes. 

                Killian sucks in a sharp breath. How could he possibly know such a thing? And the color … 

                Bae turns sharply to the man. “What did you say?” he asks, face screwing up in confusion.

                The other man drops his hands to his sides, the paper crumpling slightly in his hard grip. “Nothing. Have you found anything?”

                Killian’s eyes travel up and down Graham’s form a couple times and then he carelessly tosses the ring to the side. “No. What did you say?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

                “Pirate,” Bae sneers, but his look says he isn’t shocked. It appears Bae half-expected his appearance. Graham, on the other hand, drops the pictures and pulls out his sidearm to level at him.

                He looks between the two men, having no interest in the barrel aimed at his chest. “What did you say?” he repeats, his mind whirling. _It can’t be_. He takes the moment to study him. Yes, his father’s eyes, Liam’s as well, that bruised blue, even more apparent as they train on him in anger.

                “You. You put their lives at risk,” the man growls, his finger clicking off the safety. 

                His stomach drops. “I also gave up my revenge so she could get help,” he answers. 

                Oh, God, he had almost killed the child, hadn’t he? He had nearly sold her life short so he would have a chance at Rumplestiltskin; it didn’t matter that he thought all would have been okay. And now, what if they were more than just strangers with a similar fate? Guilt tears through him. Before, it had only been an ache, that feeling that he had wronged someone but only because they got caught in the crosshairs. Now, it eats at his gut like acid, eroding his steeled nerves to their very core.  

                “I wouldn’t have let them perish. I wouldn’t have put them in danger had I known she wasn’t further along,” he pleads. His thoughts are whirling, struggling to stay on topic as he notices more that is familiar in this man.

                The man shakes his head, showing slim, angular features in the low light of the cabin. Killian doesn’t want to see any similarities to the woman he loved and memorized for three years. He refuses to pick out nuances in his face and hair that may match hers. 

                The man’s eyes close and when they open, there is too much in that gaze. While focused, they are darkly shaded, anger and worry and fear alight in them. His breath comes in short huffs, and Killian can almost see the adrenaline racing through his veins. He is overwhelmed, too many events occurring at once. “I would have never met her if it had gone wrong,” he says hoarsely. Killian pictures this man’s daughter, the babe, the child Emma carried that he thought had no bearing on his own life, despite the strange pull he had toward her. Was he wrong in that? Did that child mean something more to him?

                Killian stares back in response. “But you have met the child. The family is yours to keep. But be on guard: Regina tasked me with your assassination. I doubt her wishes will change even though I’ve defected.”

                The two men glance between each other. “You’re not with her?” Bae asks.

                He shakes his head. “I failed in my mission, so I can’t even pretend anymore that I am on their side. It was all a ruse so I could have my honor and my revenge. But I will _hang_ my revenge if it means I retain my loyalty to the princess’ family,” he says forcefully.

                The gun lowers, safety clicking back on. However, the man’s grip remains tight, almost imperceptibly shaking.  

                “Now that we are calm … what did you say before?” he asks deliberately.

                Bae turns to him as well. “Yeah. Did you know my mother?” he asks bluntly.

                Graham’s gaze flicks between them both and then to the parchment on the floor. “No. I didn’t know her,” he says. His body’s tenseness tells a different story as he holsters his weapon.

                “If you didn’t know her, how did you know the color of her eyes?” Killian asks. That is the line that disturbed him, that spurred on this revelation. Her eye color had always been the thing that stood out amidst her features. Most people mistook it for a simple green or emerald. No, it was grey-green, as the man had said. That foggy color that haunts his dreams.               

                He turns wide eyes on him, visibly flinching. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

                “How could you not know?” Bae asks in disbelief, his leftover anger coloring his words.

                The man’s eye twitches, and he looks over at Bae. “I never knew her. I don’t know why I know what she looks like,” he affirms, eyes narrowing on Killian, mistrust still prominent.

                “Aye, but you do, mate,” Killian says softly, feeling the blood drain from his face as he remembers the place where he left his Milah. “On the Eastern shores, near the bridge between the town of Russock and Erroling, there is a forest steeped in magic. One that is unpopulated. One she visited before her death.”

                He stiffens. “I know of the village,” he grumbles and yes, he must know. He must have lived there after. The accent was of Russock, wasn’t it?

                “The magic is heavy there. Certain being, sprites, will use it for their own games. But you’re aware of that, aren’t you?” Killian asks. How long had Milah been there? Six months? Seven? _Long enough to carry a child to term?_

                He nods once, the motion barely there as his face pales. He seems to be coming to the same conclusion. Bae is looking at him in confusion. “But why would the magic allow you memories of my mother?”

                Graham shakes his head, his hands curling into fists. Denial is plain on his face. “No. No, you will not manipulate me like this. If you can’t help us find Cora and Regina, you are _useless_ to us,” he says bitingly.

                He ignores Graham’s words completely and directs his response to Baelfire, though his eyes do not leave Graham’s. “Because, Bae, the sprites would find a way to care for a defenseless child. And they would allow the child to remember its mother,” he says, feeling the words snap true in his heart and mind.

                The air is heavy, tense in its silence. Palpably thick with disbelief and belief, all at once, as realizations are made and logic shifts.

                The boys exchange glances, realizing now what it will mean for them. They take a step back from one another, eyes darting away. They are similar in only the barest of ways. The shape of their eyes, the color in their hair. Other tiny, minute things that one has to squint to find. 

                _Brothers_. 

                Oh, God, he has a _son_. A son with so many similarities to his family. His frame, lean but strong and tall, his angular features and straight nose. With his father’s eyes and his mother’s lips. With Milah’s curly hair and sharp cheekbones. His son. Milah’s son. A child of their flesh and blood, but grown and with his own family. Killian’s eyes burn as he stares, gaping at him.

                “Milah never said … never told me,” he stutters, feeling less sure of himself than he has ever been. 

                But Graham’s looking away, and Killian can see the denial before it is even out of his mouth. “No,” he says simply, his hands fisting in his hair. He shoots a dark look at him. “There is nothing here to help us. I need to protect my family and you have no place there,” he says, his eyes alight with anger and mistrust, confusion and stunned realization.

                “Graham,” he tries, and that _is_ his name, isn’t it? He barely knows his son’s name, only knows him of stories from Emma’s mouth. 

                He looks up sharply but shakes his head again. “I’m leaving. Neal, I’ll see you back in town,” he says stiffly.

                Baelifire is equally as dumbfounded, watching him leave with a shuddering breath. “My mother … you … he’s your son?” he asks, his face white as a sheet.

                He begins to nod, but Bae shakes his head before he can say anything else. He is running to the deck, following the other man before his head is on straight.

                Killian leans back, staring down at the image of Milah. It is true, isn’t it? He thinks of the way she acted before her leave, the way she clung to him after. The point of regret and sadness as she left the Jolly Roger that day, the one that made him fearful that he wouldn’t see her ever again. It hadn’t been because she was leaving him, was it? No, that look was because she wished to abandon something he had yearned for. 

                Why? Why would she deny him fatherhood? 

                Numbly, he replaces the ring on his pinky, the magic surrounding him like a cloak that doesn’t help the sudden chill that permeates him. His _son_. 

                He is suddenly desperate to know more. He pockets a few more things imbued with magic or nostalgia, the parchment the last thing lovingly folded and placed in his coat. 

                He isn’t even certain of his conclusion, he reminds himself. It is all inference with no solid basis. However, he _feels_ completely positive in his conclusion. Milah bore him a child, hid his offspring on the shores of that mystic land, and his son had been raised by another.

                He pauses on the surface, lurching forward as he remembers what Emma had told him. 

                She had said that the Queen had his heart. That she had crushed it when he left her, that he had been _murdered_. His son had suffered the same fate as his Milah, mother and son bound together in death. 

                He is alive now, he reminds himself. Brought back to life by his true love and now can share that life with her and their daughter. _Granddaughter_ , he thinks, his mind whirling. He had put his _granddaughter’s_ life at risk.

                But how long did his son suffer under the Queen?

                He finds himself back at the apartment, staring in the same window where he had been tasked to kill his son. He had never intended to go through with it, but now the idea makes him shiver in revulsion. 

                He watches his boy turn to his Emma, burying his face in her hair and lovingly kissing her cheek. They are beautiful together, moving as one entity. She is comforting him, lines of confusion on her face, but wrapping him in an embrace. His lips move near her ear, whispering something tender, which makes a smile spread across her face. She turns and picks up a bundle, the child obscured by blankets. His son pulls the child close, closing his eyes as he affectionately rocks her. The expression on his face is pure relief, as if holding his daughter takes away every burden he so precariously carries with him. 

                The look kills him. What might he have felt if Milah had handed him his infant son, instead of him coming to the realization of it fifty-nine years after the fact?

                His son is biologically … thirty, then? Chronologically older, but the curse and the months of death have changed that, just like his body was frozen at thirty-five for the longest time. His face sets as he wonders: how long did Regina keep his heart before she crushed it? 

                There are several ways to the answer, but he chooses to turn and walk toward the library. ‘Stiltskin’s mistress would have the book, the fairytale book he has heard about, and he will get a clear enough answer from that.

                Hours later, in the predawn light, he makes his way to the forest outskirts, where he knows Regina is hiding sans Cora. She is ensconced in a pitiful lean-to, a soft light engulfing the shelter.

                He slips off the ring in order to reveal himself to her.

                Her tongue clicks indelicately. “You have come to me after you failed so miserably? The Dark One is alive; the fact that you show yourself proves nerve and little else,” Regina says caustically, her dark eyes barely looking up from the spell book she is pouring over. She is surrounded by potion jars and charms but few weapons. He is catching her off-guard in her quest to fulfill her revenge on Snow White.

                “Aye, lass,” he says, twirling his hook to screw into the socket. “But I have found a way to get my revenge. It is an even better plan than the first.”

                “Oh?” she asks, her brow rising in challenge. “Is that so? You have found a better plan than the one we gave you? How utterly confident you sound.”

                He ignores that, looking around. “Is your mother waiting in the trees to exact my punishment?”

                She smirks, her finger tracing the words in the open book. “No. She has been looking for the Dark One’s dagger ever since your abominable attempt in New York. We weren’t sure of the results until the party’s arrival this afternoon. Now, Rumplestiltskin is alive and Miss Swan is in better health than when she left.” She sneers, not bothering to look up. “Your confidence besides this is intriguing, I will say,” she says bitingly.

                “Of course. While I am always confident, this plan is truly spectacular. There is even a twist. I have even found a plan for your former … pet, I believe you called him?”

                She finally looks up, leveling him with a glance. She lets a smile cross her face, and the dagger he was unaware she had clatters to the table she is working on. It’s a threat, a blatant but idle one. “You’ve found a plan for both? I must hear it.”

                Killian smiles back. “Oh, you will hear it. First, I must ask you something,” he says, bringing the fairytale book to her attention, pulling it from the bag and tossing it at her feet on the open page. “Here, this passage. Where you tear out the Huntsman’s heart for allowing Snow White’s freedom. This is before, of course, he left you for Miss Swan, before you crushed his heart and caused his death. ‘Take him to my bedchambers,’ it says. Why, what does this mean?” he asks, sweetness dripping from his words like rotten aspartame.

                Regina’s eyes narrow. “Do you need me to draw you a picture, pirate? He was my pet, mine to do with as I wished.”

                He nods. “I thought that’s what it meant.” He lets the hook out from his sleeve and lashes forward, cutting into her side and scrapping back, flesh ripping with a sickening squelch. She gasps, falling to her knees and pressing her hands into the wound.

                “Hook?” she asks, her eyes wide and pleading, no doubt remembering the poison that enchants his weapon.

                He twists the hook to gleam in the moonlight, shadows making the blood look ebony. He studies it with a grin. “I told you there was a twist, didn’t I?” he asks.

                She groans, darting forward but missing him completely, the books on the table clattering to the ground in her effort. “I don’t understand! You just wasted your revenge!” she moans, falling backward as beads of sweat form on her forehead.

                He steps forward, looming over her so she can see his face. “My revenge is not wasted, lass, not at all! You see, my focus was always on the Crocodile, the man who took my love away from me. But killing him will not bring her back! I know that, and I wonder how empty it would be had I managed it. But you? Ah, yours is a far greater justice.”

                “Why?” she cries, thrashing angrily, kicking out against nothing.

                He feels the rage spike again and he leans closer, so she can feel his breath as he speaks. His hand comes down on her side, pressing into the wound as she screams. She lashes forward, nails scrapping into his cheek, but he ignores the pain. “Because your death will give my son peace.”

                Confusion lights her brown eyes, hands pressing against her wound to stifle the blood flow. “You have no child,” she says, her words sure and steady.

                “Just found out myself, love,” he says placidly. He feels the rage and empowerment raise him up. This is the right thing. This will yield happiness and a new beginning instead of just the Crocodile’s end. “Milah’s child, _our_ child, survived your curse. He survived your torture, after you enslaved and raped him. He survived your murderous wrath when he found his true love. He shouldn’t have to look upon your face ever again,” he grits out.

                 She freezes, understanding dawning. “No,” she hisses. “You’re a liar. You’re trying to make me believe so, so …,” she trails off.

                He shakes his head, baring his teeth. “You can’t even find a reason that I’d lie. And that’s because it is the honest truth.”

                “You can’t know something like that,” she protests.

                He sneers. “But I can. And I know that you made his life a living hell.”

                “He was an orphan! Abandoned to the wolves! He had no parents, none that cared for him!” she insists.

                “Should have done your research more thoroughly, love. He has a father that will do _anything_ for him, including killing his attacker.” He pauses, gesturing to her drolly. “That’s you.”

                She’s shaking, the poison melding in her bloodstream. He ignores this, knowing that it won’t take her life for another couple days. She will suffer. Not as much as his son did, of course, but she will suffer plenty. “It can’t be. It can’t be!”

                He smiles, seeing that she knows her fate, knows her crimes for which she is being punished. “I rather doubt there will be many that will miss you. You’ve been a very naughty girl, Regina.”

                “Hook, Hook, no!” she shouts.

                He shrugs. “And now it looks like my son will be marrying into the Charming family. So, if you wish, you can add those sins to the reason you’re going to die in this forest. Imminently.”

                “Please, they wouldn’t want this!” she protests.

                He leans forward once more. “You are lucky his true love is the Savior. You are lucky that she could revive him from his grave. Or else this would have been much more unpleasant for you.”

                “Hook?” she calls as he turns to leave. He ignores the plea. “Hook!”

                “Ta, love.”

 


	30. Emma (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So, I apologize for the lateness. I believe I will be updating bimonthly, now, though. I need a little more time with the later chapters, so I’m stretching out the updates in order to do so. I am so sorry; I know I’ve been spoiling you all! This chapter is a longer one, but the rest will be more like normal.
> 
> Also, thank you all for the glorious support of doling out some justice to Regina! I was a little worried there, but you’ve all been so receptive!
> 
> Trigger warnings: Mentions of past rape (nothing explicit)

                Emma knows something is wrong the moment he returns. Invisible weight seems balanced on his shoulders as he slumps heavily against the door. He pulls a hand through his hair, already a mass of tangled curls, and lets out a shuddering sigh. 

                She shifts, placing Brianna back in her bassinet, and adjusts her shirt. He meets her eyes and reaches her in two long steps. She is ready, pulling him into a hard embrace, feeling his heart beat rapidly against her shoulder.

                “What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling him closer, feeling the heat drift into her body. She recognizes that she needs this nearness just as much as he does, her eyes fluttering in bliss as her senses are overtaken by him. She is trying to push away the worries she had when he had left earlier, the fears resurfacing that she wouldn’t see him again, as he turned the corner with Neal.

                He shakes his head, burying his face in her hair and resting his chin on the curve of her neck, his beard tingling the skin. His breath comes in shallow puffs before slowly steadying. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s safe for now,” he says.

                She moves her hands in slow circles on his back. He is trembling, just slightly. Her eyes close, wondering at this reaction, wondering if Neal said something stupid to him. “Are you sure?” she asks, not believing his words even a little, but worried about pressing the issue.    

                He exhales sharply, the warm breath moving her hair off the nape of her neck. He leans back slightly, pressing his lips against her cheek. “Not really. Can I see Brianna?”

                She smiles at that, eager to see her in his arms once more. But her heart aches that he feels the need to ask permission. She turns and picks up the sleeping infant from the blankets, letting her fall gently into her father’s arms.

                Graham sighs as the baby shifts closer, not waking from her heavy sleep. His face absolutely unfurls from its previous tightness. He sits on the couch near Emma, his eyes closing in rapturous relief. Shadows still hint as his eyes open to stare down at her, but he looks infinitely better.

                With one hand, he reaches for hers. She takes it easily, sitting next to him and resting her head against his shoulder. He rocks Brianna gently in one arm. She looks down at her daughter, noting the peaceful, contented look on her face and she wonders if she realizes just who is holding her. 

                His grip strengthens, and she looks up to see a tear slide down his face. She worries, squeezing his hand back. He looks up, his eyes shaded. He smiles at her.

                “I love you,” he says hoarsely, brushing his thumb against her knuckles. “I love our family.”

                She swallows, feeling his words wash over her with truth and reciprocation. She just can’t say it, for whatever reason. She leans against his side, rolling her head to his chest. What’s _wrong_ with her? She feels a tear of frustration and guilt drip down her face and she quickly swipes her cheek to be rid of it. “What happened, Graham?” she asks.

                He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says firmly, tucking Brianna closer. “This is all that matters: you, Brianna, Henry, your parents … that’s all.”

                She frowns. Neal must’ve said something, staked some angry claim to Henry or her or something. She is undoubtedly his, though, and her family has become his as well, just as much as he is hers. They don’t own each other, not in the way that she felt Neal considered her way back when; no, it’s a different sort. They share a soul, a life, and together they just become … whole.

                She knows that she can function without him; she learned that over the months after his death, as she trudged along through her life. But she also knows that from the very minute she entered this town, she just works _better_ with him. She’s happier, quicker, sharper, more herself, less broken. He just makes her … more. He is just as essential to her as a limb or an organ. But she doesn’t know how to express that to him, how to make him realize when she just can’t force the words he needs past her throat. “Our family is all that matters,” she says finally, hoping it is enough.

                He smiles, and she thinks maybe it is. 

                They both look down at Brianna and just stay that way, sides touching and hands clenched in each other’s, until Henry sleepily descends the stairs. He comes up to her first, and she loops her free arm around him. He goes to Graham next, and she watches as Graham pulls him a little closer and his eyes shut almost painfully. The tremor is back, just barely noticeable. Henry is apparently too tired to care, drowsily pulling back and pressing a small kiss to his sister’s head.

                “Grandpa says dinner’s ready,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

                She feels anger shoot through her briefly, eyes drifting up to David as he sets the table. She’s still pretty furious with him. Graham was blindsided and didn’t have to be. He could have learned _weeks_ ago, prepared himself. 

                Sure, it was ideal for her to tell him first, to see the knowledge cross his face. If she lets herself admit it, she can even say that she was relieved that she was the first to let him know.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if David didn’t make _Henry_ lie about something so important. She can handle a lot of things, but lying wasn’t typically among them. 

                Cautiously, she takes Brianna from his grip to set her back in the bassinet. He smiles, even though she can see a flash of resistance in his eye. “I’ll go help your mother with the table,” he murmurs, rising. 

                Dinner is eaten in uncomfortable silence. 

                Henry is too tired to talk, slurping up noodles lazily. Mary Margaret is cautious, eyes bouncing from one to the other in worried sadness. Graham still looks thoughtful and overwhelmed, pushing the pasta back and forth on his plate but not truly eating. David looks up guiltily between bites, opening his mouth to speak every once in a while but snapping it shut as he thinks better of it. Emma is too upset to talk, her fork coming down on her plate in angry thrusts every time she catches David’s eye. Even the newborn is silent in her bassinet, sleeping fitfully now as if sensing the tension in the air. 

                Everyone is finished, but she glances worriedly at Graham’s full plate as he rises to take it to the sink. She looks up to meet Mary Margaret’s eye and notices she has the same look of confusion that she knows she must have on her own. She jerks her chin in his direction and Mary Margaret nods, standing and grabbing Henry’s arm.

                “Henry, why don’t you sleep with me and David tonight, upstairs? That way your mom and Graham will have enough room down here with Brianna,” she offers gently. 

                Emma smiles in thanks, turning slightly to see Graham and David with the dishes. “Sound good?” she asks, directing the question at Graham.

                Graham looks up from his dish and seems a little out of it, blinking back to the present. “If it’s all right with you, David,” he finally agrees. 

                Her eyes narrow. “It’s fine with David,” she says, glancing up as if asking him to say otherwise.

                David shifts uncomfortably at her look. “I wouldn’t say otherwise,” he says, looking wounded. Good, she thinks. He should be feeling upset with himself. She ignores the tiny pang that says she is being too harsh here.

                They shift, her parents and son going back upstairs to what is technically her room. She walks up to Graham and stops his movements, pulling him away with the dishwasher.

                She pulls him around to face her, and he shies away from her frank inspection. “Okay, Graham. I’ve given you some time, but you’re scaring me. What happened with Neal?” she asks.

                He sighs, lashes fluttering across his cheeks and he presses his forehead against hers. She can count each individual lash and she has to mentally shake herself away from falling into his embrace. “Nothing,” he says finally, the word full of pain.

                “Nothing? Graham, you’ve barely said a word since you came back. Something must’ve happened,” she counters.

                He takes her hand gently, staring at it a moment before bringing the palm to his lips. She shivers, trying to remind herself that she’s getting information out of him, not letting herself be entranced by his presence again. She pulls back, just enough to let him know she needs the answer. He smiles slightly. “We fought a little, but nothing horrible. We’re not quite at an understanding yet, but we will be,” he finally says. 

                Her brow furrows. Neal is an ass. Graham’s too good a person to say something like that aloud, to admit what her ex must’ve done, but she knows what must have transpired. He’s been too sweet to not say what her ex must have said to him. She remembers that harsh bluntness that Neal had taken with her, and can only imagine with slew of bitter words that would have been directed toward Graham. “You are my family, Graham,” she reasserts, going back to what was said before. “Not him. It has to be Henry’s decision whether he wants to know Neal, but Neal is not _my_ family.”

                He chuckles a little and she can hear a bit of irony in it. Finally his eyes meet hers. “This, right here? The people in this house? You are my family, the only ones I want,” he says, pulling her in his arms again.

                She lets the words warm her, pulling him close. _Here_. Here is where she can say it. It would come out naturally, it would reassure him. She sighs as he moves away, back to Brianna, and the moment is lost. She’ll talk to Neal sometime tomorrow, when they’re getting things together. He’ll understand that Graham is her home now, even better than any imagined Tallahassee. “Let’s get what sleep we can. She’ll be up in another two hours,” she says.

                He nods, coming closer to her, eyes flicking across her body. “We should get ready for bed then,” he says, his voice just a touch huskier. She reaches for the top button on his shirt, nodding her agreement.

                The undress slowly, touching and discovering each other all over again. The times before … well, it hadn’t been hurried, but it hadn’t been this sort of exploratory journey across their skin. For all the intimacy of it, they don’t make love again. Instead, they pull against each other and she falls asleep in his strong arms, their limbs tangled and pressing up against each other, nose buried in his chest, hand over his heart, and leg thrown over his.

                Her awareness comes only a couple hours later, as she curls into a ball on the side of the bed. Somewhere between the hospital and here, her body’s rhythm has already accommodated Brianna’s routine. It’s unnatural, she knows; no new mother should be so used to the strange hours newborns keep. The first day, on the third time the lactation specialist had come to wake her and found her already feeding Brianna, she wondered if perhaps they are connected, if somehow the power running through each of the veins has her innately aware of Brianna’s needs. She knows when to wake, to prepare herself so she can feed her. So she opens her eyes blurrily, rolling onto her side and hands reaching to gauge what side Brianna had used last. She begins to rise when she hears a deep murmur.

                “Where are you going?”

                She turns, startled. In the dark, she can make out his eyes, glinting in appreciation. She huffs out a breathy, short laugh, eyes blinking back tears. She had almost forgotten. Oh, God, she thought it was just her, working through new parenthood. Just as she prepared for it to be.

                She looks down, noticing only now that Brianna is on his chest, his large hand over her back, the blankets loosened from its tight swaddle. The baby’s eyes are open as well, but she is silent as she rests her head over her father’s heart. The moonlight is straining through the white curtains, the glow surrounding the two. Emma is overwhelmed; it’s the only word that can even try to encompass what she’s feeling. They look ethereal in the low light, his eyes dark as he slowly moves his palm up and down in an instinctively soothing motion.

                She bites back further emotion. “You know,” she says hoarsely, burrowing back into the covers a bit. “They say new parents get no sleep. I don’t think they mean because one decides to stay up all night just to watch the baby.”

                He smiles, shifting so that he is sitting up with her is in his arms. Brianna sighs, making a light sound of protest. “She’s been rooting around for the past five minutes, so I’m guessing she’s hungry. But yeah … I couldn’t put her down,” he sighs, his drowsiness increasing the pitch of his accent, which settles and fizzles low in her belly. He sits up and turns, placing Brianna in her arms delicately.

                She adjusts her, guiding her into latching. She looks up to see him watching closely. The corners of her lips turn up. “Is it the baby or the body part catching your attention right now?” she asks jokingly.

                He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Let’s say it’s a toss-up and leave it at that,” he says, but his eyes tell a different story. He is awed, not lusting. He brushes some hair off her shoulder, tracing a trail down her arm. He shifts closer and she leans against him.

                “This won’t feel so unusual, soon, having you here,” she murmurs, nudging her nose onto his shoulder. She takes a slow breath in, taking in his soothing scent and feeling the heat resonate off his body. With him by her side and her daughter at her breast, sucking contentedly, she isn’t sure she could feel more _full_.

                “I don’t think I can imagine it _not_ being so unbelievable to see our daughter in your arms,” he replies and she feels a blush creep up her neck. She can’t get over having him here, having him say such sweet, loving things but another, darker part can’t get over worrying. It hasn’t even been a day since having him back, but it feels both a breath of time and an eternity. They just fit like that, and that scares her more than she’d like to admit.

                “It’s like I’m waiting on the bottom to drop out or something. I’ve never felt this …,” she trails off. Happy. Loved. Content. Whole. Any of these things can fit and more. She fears that at any moment it will be ripped away from her, startlingly quick. Because isn’t that always how it goes? She just settles in, just gets comfortable, just starts _believing_ , and then it all goes to hell. 

                His mouth parts and he looks away. His brow is furrowed, thoughtful. She reaches up to touch his face and their eyes lock. She won’t ask again, but her fingers trip against the stubble on his jaw and she hopes he knows she’s there when he’s ready. 

                He brings his hand to cover hers, fingertips tracing light patterns. Finally, he nods. “I remember my biological mother,” he admits.

                Her brows knit. “Oh?” she asks, confused. “But you, uh … wolves?” she stumbles. She’s still trying to rectify that part of the story with him. Her preconceived idea of “raised by wolves” usually involved children that were wild, angry, unsociable. He, on the other hand, has always been so gentle, so kind. The only primal things she has ever experienced with him are the nips and bites on her skin, the low growls during sex, but that has always been enticing rather than concerning.

                He grimaces. “Yeah. But, the one that birthed me. The one that left me with them. I don’t _think_ I was left for dead, not really. And the magic there … it’s strange. I know it was purposeful, that she wanted to do it. She must’ve given me to them when I was about as young as Brianna … but somehow, I remember her, what she looks like, all of it.” 

                “ _What_?” She feels anger, white and hot, itch through her and only lets it temper when she notices Brianna fussing against her. He had said that he was raised by them, but she never equated that to him being left that young. She takes a deep breath and looks down at her little girl, so small, so helpless, and so very dependent on her. She brushes a hand down her brow, her heart aching. Her eyes flash back to him. “She abandoned you to the wolves when you were a _newborn_?” she asks incredulously. 

                He nods, brushing his hand across Brianna’s head. He looks up at her, and he smiles slightly to see the outrage she knows must be painted on her face. “I was safe with the pack and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he assures.

                 It doesn’t change much. She still wants to claw the woman’s eyes out. To the _wolves_? She may have given up Henry for adoption, but she knew he would be safe, believing he would be getting his best chance with a family that would love him. Her teeth clench as she brings a hand to touch his cheek, wondering how it would be possible to leave such a wonderful person to a bunch of wild animals. That cold, heartless _bitch_.

                He shrugs slightly. “But I remember her face very clearly. And today … today I saw a drawing of her.”

                She studies his face, eyes bouncing across features. “Today? Is that what got you so upset?” she asks in understanding.

                He presses his lips together before nodding. “Yes. Because I found that picture on the ship,” he replies.

                Her brow furrows. “On the ship? Hook’s ship?” She had been through a couple of the rooms and she thinks she remembers a pile of parchment thrown across a table, with rough lines drawn across them. She had been too worried about other things to really look through it.

                He nods. “I saw it … and I just knew it was her. I’ve always had the memory, but it just seemed sharper suddenly.”

                She shimmies to sit up a little, looking at him seriously. She has a lot of questions, but she needs this one the most. “Why did it make you _this_ upset?” she asks. Because he hadn’t just been confused or angry, he had been broken. Broken in such a familiar, shocking way.

                He sighs and his eyes close. “Because the pirate and Neal both knew her, too. And they both found out I recognized her. And the pirate figured out why.”

                She shifts. The pirate … Killian knew her? Her mind is still a little foggy, but she feels a sharp apprehension. “How did they know her?”

                He shudders. “I think … I think I may be his biological son,” he says finally.

                Her breath leaves her in a whoosh. She swallows thickly, her eyes wide as she tries to take this in. She is suddenly met with a flash, of Killian rolling his thumb against her wrist, of what her mind had seen; she thought she was _dreaming_ of similarities to ease the pain. 

                She tracks the planes of his face, the whole of his body, stomach knotting as she does begin to notice resemblances. She remembers how desperate Graham was when he returned, how eager to define what his family was to him. “It doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to,” she offers. That’s what she had kept telling herself when she learned about her parents, even if that had gone straight downhill right after. 

                He shakes his head. “That’s just one side, though. Neal knows who she is because she is _his_ mother,” he finally says.

                She feels sucker-punched. Her mouth falls open, her arms slackening around Brianna before quickly scooping her back up. She can’t think of two people more opposite to one another. “But that can’t be!” she sputters. Brianna whimpers and she bring her to her shoulder and rubs her hand against her back. She looks to the sheets and tries to go about her statement more gently. “You two … you couldn’t be more different,” she says slowly. 

                He laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, apparently that’s not as true as I would have liked to think,” he says, shaking his head. 

                She rises and walks to the bassinet. She re-swaddles Brianna, making shushing noises under her breath, and is granted with her falling right to sleep. She wonders if perhaps her magic helps her along, because she doesn’t know of a more mild-tempered child. It is in these minutes that she feels herself get a rein on her emotions.

                She turns back to Graham to lock eyes with him, and walks to the bed. She straddles him, a sheet between their bodies, and lets her hair curtain their faces. She looks into his eyes, hands gently rubbing his shoulders. “Whatever they tell you, you are the best man I have ever known, Graham. No contest. And the reason you came back, the reason you got your memories, the reason Brianna’s so powerful? There’s a _reason_ for that,” she says, hoping he can make the leap to understand what she is getting at.

                He leans forward, catching her lips before pulling back achingly slow. “I know,” he says, his eyes holding all the love she hopes is being reflected back at him. 

                She smiles, closing her eyes and she chuckles a little. “There’s actually nothing of you that reminds me of Neal. But … but you and Henry are alike.”

                He rubs his forehead with his hand. “I guess that would make him a … a,” he stutters, eyes widening. “Nephew. He’s my nephew.”

                She shakes her head, brow furrowing. “No. Maybe biologically. But Graham … he loves you, he looks up to you. I could see it before and I can see it now. He doesn’t just think of you like an uncle or whatever,” she says. The corner of her lips turns up. “Just look at me and Mary Margaret. Bloodlines don’t mean everything.”

                He gives just the barest hint of a smile. “I don’t know. Not what you’re implying, anyway. He has his real father now … he’s not going to care about some potential … well, stepfather,” he says and his eyes meet hers almost apologetically.

                She’s lets the idea wash over her, trying to see how she would feel if she was someone’s wife. The idea has never sat well with her, but thinking about Graham as her husband … she slides the word back in forth in her head, _husband_ , and it curls something in her stomach in anticipation. She looks down at her left hand, the twisted lace that already is on there, that already ties her to him in so many ways. She tries to imagine something else, something metal and cool, something more legal wrapped around her fourth finger. She brushes it to the side for now, cursing herself for the silly fantasy. “He has known you his entire life, which is more than either Neal or I can say. He’s not going to cast aside what he feels for you because that man has some biological connection,” she says.

                Graham traces a line down her face, leaving a trail of ignited nerves, and her breath shortens. “He doesn’t care about the time apart, not really. You know that, don’t you?”

                Her eyes dart away and she pulls back just a little. She bites her lip and shrugs.

                He leans up, his hands barely touching her hips. “He loves you so much, it’s amazing,” he says.

                She smiles, deflecting. “He has a big heart, that kid,” she replies. “Do you see how much he loves his sister?”

                His eyes light. “Yeah. Poor kid’s got a bit of a tangled family tree already, though, and I’m not helping that much,” he says.

                Her face contorts as she thinks of all the connections and coincidences that have marked their family. “Yeah, well, not your fault. It’s not like we knew. And besides … well, the reason,” she says.

                He grins. “Yeah, the reason,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers. 

                She wraps her arms around him, deciding she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care if Hook is his father, if Neal is his half-brother, if Henry is his nephew. Because he is hers, just as surely as she is his; they are the realest thing she has ever had in her entire life. And as much as that scares her, as much as she worries that it will all come tumbling down, she is determined to feel it. Isn’t that what Mary Margaret had wanted her to do? To let down her walls?

                Their lips part and then she presses right back into another, straddling him more fully and letting a hand fall between them.

                “No,” he says, pulling back just a hair.

                She looks up. “No?”

                He quirks a smile, grabbing her hand. In one smooth motion, he lays her on her side. He is right beside her, close enough to touch but leaving a breath of space. “You’re the first person, in either of my lives, that I’ve had this kind of connection with. I just want to lie here with you.”

                She smirks, edging closer. “We can just lie here after,” she teases.

                He laughs. “Emma, I don’t want it to be all sex.”

                She jerks back, stunned, eyes narrowing. “Do you think that’s all I want from you?”

                He shakes his head quickly, grasping her arms. “No, Em, that’s not what I’m trying to say. It’s just … we’ve had that. I want the boring, intimate, coupley stuff now. The stuff we were denied.”

                A lump gathers in her throat and she can feel her lip tremble. She has never wished for that. She never had a Real Relationship, one of those big, capitalized things that seem to hold so much weight. What she had with Neal couldn’t count; they had been too young, too much on the outside of the law, always running.  She always pictured a Real Relationship to have those milestones you saw on TV or cheesy chick flicks: those big, romantic gestures, the big events. Sometimes, she even wished for them, in a withered sort of baseless hope. 

                She didn’t realize that having the small moments that they would have had, had he not died, would seem so … desirable. It feels more real than the thought of any of those milestones. She nods. “That sounds perfect,” she chokes out, scooting into his embrace. She bites her lips a little. “I’m sorry I stuck you with a family before we got a chance to explore ‘us.’”

                His eyes narrow in disbelief. “You _stuck_ us with a family? First of all, I think I may have helped in that regard,” he smiles coyly, his hand tracing the small of her back. Then he looks at her with more seriousness. “And I have never felt more blessed to have this family with you. Brianna was a surprise to me, earlier than I imagined, but I want this so much. You, Brianna, Henry … I don’t know that I have the words to let you know how much. I will _always_ want you, them, _us_. All of it. Every part.”

                She swallows. “I do, too. It’s just … when I had Henry, I didn’t have anyone … I even kinda lost myself in the process. Now, I have everything. And it’s _scary_.”

                A hand cards through her hair, and then scratches pleasingly along her scalp. “Sleep. Brianna’s going to be awake in a couple more hours, anyway,” he says with a kiss to her forehead.

                She relaxes against him but something still nags in the back of her head, something he said about _in either of his lives_. It has stirred up an old question, mixed with the memory of their fight after the night shift. “Graham?”

                “Hmm?”

                She leans up on one arm to look down at him. Before she knows what she is doing, she is tracing the scar again, feeling its unevenness. She remembers the sight of Aurora’s heart in Cora’s firm grasp, the puppet that was made of the otherwise strong-willed woman. “In your life before …,” she hesitates. She doesn’t know if she wants the answer, if she wants to know. She swallows. “She took your heart.”

                He leans up a little, studying her face carefully. “Yeah,” he says, answering the non-question but also leaving it open for the real one.

                _Yes_ , Mary Margaret had said, _she could control him_. Her brow furrows and her stomach churns, but she needs to get this out. “And here, I caught you leaving her house.”

                “Emma,” he says, the words a sigh, a worry, a warning that she won’t like what he’ll have to say.

                “She was able to control you. I know, Mary Margaret told me. She … did she control you?” she finally asks.

                He is silent a long moment. “Emma, you are the first person I was ever with because I wanted to be,” he finally says.

                And here, this, more than any of the other revelations this past day, seizes her heart and her mind and her soul. When she first saw Cora’s control of the army of undead, she had speculated. It hit closer to home to see the childlike princess alive, seemingly normal, but will bent. Her mind began to thread together all of the pieces she had learned about magic, about Graham. About _Regina_. But actually knowing it had happened is a completely different thing. 

                On a regular day, she would have raged. She would have found Regina and torn her apart with her bare hands. But this day has been too much: too much emotion, too many reveals, and all while her hormones are still in turmoil. 

                She shakes and then one hard sob escapes her. Her mind begins to whirl with everything he’s had to suffer through; it feels like a cruel twist of irony, for him to have been hurt so terribly just for sparing her mother’s life. His arms surround her and she sobs harder, because he should not be comforting her, and that bitch touched him against his will and _forced_ him and she’s been walking around free and she _killed_ him. 

                There’s a ringing in her head and tears are flowing down her face unbidden. She doesn’t think she’s cried this hard since after his funeral, when Mary Margaret had been the one crushing her in an embrace. He is trying, trying so hard, to calm her down. She is pressed tight against his chest, so tight she can’t believe she can still make sounds. She pushes him away, trying desperately to get ahold of her own emotions, but he holds tight, pressing his lips into her hair. Finally, she collapses into him, giving up to the tears and violent emotion, letting it flow freely. 

                He finally releases her and rises unceremoniously. She wonders what he’s doing, but then the ringing stops and she realizes that Brianna is crying.

                She swallows air thickly, hiccupping as she tries to abate her outburst. She hadn’t factored in the connection between them, that Brianna would be able to sense her outburst. Guilt is now racking her; she is disrupting the routine she is just beginning to learn with her daughter and she is putting more burden on Graham than he ever deserved. She’s stronger than this. But Graham, the gentlest soul she’s ever encountered, and Regina – 

                 “Emma, please, don’t worry about that. I have you, I have her … I have my family, all of it, here now. If all that happened before just meant I got to have one of those things, it would be worth it. You’re giving me so much … it’s like the past didn’t exist. Or at the very least, it doesn’t matter,” he says and then his voice shifts, a soft, lilting hum being murmured through the air and Brianna’s sharp cries soften.

                She tucks into herself, feeling the guilt eat away at her. She takes a few more shuddering breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control so she can help him.

                “I think I had a dream like this once.”

                She looks up, her shoulders still shaking a little. Then, she freezes. Brianna is in his arms, bundled and drifting back to sleep slowly as he rocks her. His face is tender, happy … awed.

                Her body slackens. “I … I did, too,” she says. “Just like this; this exact image.”

                And it’s true. His movements, his posture, the way he rocks her, everything is as she pictured. She remembers lying in that forest, how hard she had wished that the image would come true. Now, here he is. Here _they_ are. He looks _blissful_. Maybe … maybe it _will_ be okay.

                She unfurls her limbs and rises, walking up to him. She smiles through her wet eyes, reaching them with tentative steps. She lets an apology into her gaze and brushes a hand through his curls. He offers her a smile of his own, sinking into her touch. Then she moves through their daughter’s wispier hair. Her chest feels tight with emotion.

                “I love you,” she says, the words tumbling past her lips so effortlessly that she almost can’t believe it. She freezes, trepidation cloaking her.

                He looks up at her, a smile tweaking the corners of his lips, a cautious glint in his beautiful eyes. “I know. The reason, right?” he says.

                She breathes. He is still in front of her. Brianna is still in his arms. He hasn’t disappeared because she said it, hasn’t collapsed to the ground again. He is breathing, he is real, and he is _permanent_. She pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around him and their child, letting his nearness speak for itself. “The reason,” she agrees.

                She can almost forget that Cora and Regina are still after them because right now her family is in one little loft, cramped tightly but fitting exceptionally well.

                She will heal him. And he will heal her. Now that everything’s in the open, that process can begin. 

 

 


	31. David PART ONE (6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Something different this time, guys. This is PART ONE of this chapter for a very specific reason: my beta gave me an idea for the second half, which will change things a bit. It will take a little time to smooth through the ideas, but I didn’t want to leave you all hanging.

                David wakes for the final time with Henry pressed against him, snoring lightly. He is fast asleep on his stomach, legs thrown about and arm stretched over the neck of the wolf in the space where David’s wife was earlier. The wolf watches him but doesn’t pick up its head as he reaches for the boy, a sign of its growing comfort with him. “Henry,” he says, feeling slightly dismayed that he has to wake him. The boy hasn’t slept this soundly since the night the curse broke, right before everything went to hell.

                Henry shifts, mumbling in his sleep and flinging a hand over his head. He looks peaceful, his dark hair messy and his face pink with warmth. David takes a moment to look at him, wondering if waking him is truly in his best interests. Finally, David smiles and rises by himself, deciding that Henry can sleep all he wants. As exhilarating as a family breakfast sounds, it could wait for him. After all, dinner hadn’t gone on too well the night before.

                He patters down the stairs, following the smell of a warm oven. He is met by the sight of Snow at the stove, a book in hand as she waits for the kettle to boil. Her hair has been smoothed down by sleepy fingers, and she is dressed warmly in a cream pajama set. She smiles when she sees him. “Good morning,” she says tenderly.

                Emma sits on a barstool, resting her face in her hands. Her hair is a mess of tangles, cheeks pale, and she is dressed in leggings and a blue button-up shirt that is decidedly not hers. “Coffee?” she asks timidly, her voice thick with sleep.

                Snow laughs. “It’s getting ready. Not much sleep, I assume?” she asks. David’s eyes dart to Snow’s in bewilderment, shocked at her implication. But at the wholly innocent look on her face, he realizes his brain must be working on a different level.

                “Mm,” is her hummed response as she rubs her face tiredly.

                “I barely heard her crying at all, though,” Snow says sympathetically, pulling down mugs. David sags in the realization that she’s talking about the baby, and has to agree. He only remembers hearing the newborn cry maybe once or twice during the night.

                “Mostly in-tune with her. I usually get to her before she starts crying,” she mumbles.

                He turns, looking to the little nook where the bassinet is. Graham is sitting on the hastily made bed, rocking Brianna back and forth slowly. It tugs his heart to see the man David’s been getting to know so much better with his daughter in his arms.

                “Morning,” he calls to the other man.

                The look he gets in return is somewhat startled, and he can see that Graham has likely gotten less rest than Emma. “Morning,” he replies, his voice thick with sleep.

                David raises an empty mug. “Coffee?”

                Graham’s answering smile is slightly forced, but he nods. His body isn’t tense, but his eyes are shaded, dark. He looks only marginally better than when he had returned to the loft the night before.

                David frowns when he turns, looking at Snow with a question, but she is too busy fussing over Emma as the latter tries to swat her away.

                Finally, the coffee is done and Emma stumbles back to the bed, leaning against Graham and handing him a mug.

                David rounds the island to where Snow is busy at work. “Something’s up,” he says under his breath.

                Snow raises a brow but only lifts a spoon. “Taste,” she commands, and he rolls his eyes before leaning forward to test the sauce.

                He licks his lips, contemplating. “More vanilla,” he says. She smiles and adds more of the extract to the chocolate sauce. “Now, I’m not going crazy. Something’s wrong.”

                Snow hushes him, darting a look to the new family in the bedroom. “I would say something’s up. The poor man has only just learned that he has a daughter,” she says, shooting him a look before checking the pastries in the oven.

                David winces. Yesterday, when Graham was gone, Emma had torn into him about lying to Graham this whole time. He had given all the reasons he believed true, but her anger has not subsided. She had been giving him the cold shoulder, only asking Snow for help or ideas as she cared for her daughter. “I apologized,” he says softly.

                She shoots him a look, tasting the sauce again. “To Graham?” she asks.

                He frowns, looking back as Graham closes his eyes and leans against Emma. “I will. It wasn’t because I was upset with him. On the contrary.”

                “I know, Charming,” she says, smiling gently. “But now he has to deal with the fallout of only now realizing that he’s a father. I know I have my own apologies to make, but you’re the one that came up with this plan. He could have had this time to prepare,” she says, her green eyes trained on him in concern.

                He sighs, pulling a hand through his short hair. He leans against the countertop, pushing his arms back. “Yeah, I know. He deserves the apology. Maybe after breakfast?”

                She raises her brows. “You won’t have much time. We have to convene to see how the plan’s coming, remember,” she reminds gently.

                He nods. “I’ll find the time. He deserves it,” he replies. Even though he’d never had the chance to hold Emma as a newborn for more than a few minutes, he had gotten every single moment of Snow’s pregnancy. He guesses that he was holding onto the hope that Graham would have those last few weeks to see Emma’s belly expand, to feel Brianna kick and stretch beneath skin, to adjust to the idea, to see his daughter born before getting to this point.

                Henry bounds down the stairs, the wolf at his heels, brightness in his every move. “Good morning!” he cries, beaming with a smile.

                David can’t help but grin widely back. “Good morning! I take it you had a good night?” he asks.

                Henry nods enthusiastically. “That was the best sleep in a long time,” he replies happily, running up to hug him around the waist.

                “Go see if your mom needs help,” he insists. Henry nods and rushes over to the pair.

                Emma receives him with a bright smile, brushing back Henry’s hair and guiding Henry into what Graham is doing in changing Brianna. David notes, with some amusement, that the step-by-step instructions are as much for the former Huntsman as they are for his grandson. Graham hesitates before each action, waiting on Emma’s words before moving onto the next. His actions are gentle, cautious and when it is done his smile is perhaps a little brighter as he presents the newly changed baby to her brother.

                David calls for them after a few minutes. The breakfast of chocolate croissants and fruit has been laid out by Snow on the table. There is just enough room for all of them.

                He looks over his family with pride as he sits. From his wife to his youngest grandchild, he feels at peace.

                He remembers that Neal is supposed to be integrated here, and Rumplestiltskin. He’s not sure he entirely cares about Neal, actually. He hasn’t had to talk to him much and that’s likely for the best. He really wants to hurt the man, to have him pay for the suffering his child went through. But he knows Henry wouldn’t appreciate it, if his ramblings about learning about the man are anything to go on. Emma might secretly like it, but he doubts that will quell her ire at him for keeping Brianna a secret from Graham.

                Breakfast is slightly less awkward than the previous meal. Henry is more talkative, Snow is smiling and happy, and Emma and Graham are leaning against each other, nodding along with the conversation. Emma still throws an occasional glare at him, though, and he knows he has to talk to her as well.

                He is able to corner her when she goes upstairs while the others are cleaning up the meal. He sneaks around the corner, seeing Emma furiously scrubbing her teeth with a green brush. Her face is paler than normal, and under-eyes smeared with exhausted bruises. She spits and then leans over the stream of cool water, cupping her hands and tossing it over her skin. He wonders how these hallmarks of new parenthood would have looked on Snow.

                “Do you need any help?” he ventures cautiously.

                She looks up, her eyes hardening. “Not from you,” she grumbles, pushing past him toward the stairs.

                He catches her arms before she can make it. “Emma, how long are you going to be mad at me?” he asks, hurt.

                She takes a quick breath before her darkening eyes meet his. “It’s bad enough you didn’t let Graham know. But then you made _Henry_ lie about it. _That’s_ why I don’t want to talk to you right now, David.”

                His heart sinks. He thinks of how she had been before the New York trip, so cautiously accepting of their relationship. Now the distance seems more than he can bridge. “I am so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I just didn’t want –“

                “Him sacrificing himself for us. Yeah, you said that,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Bull. He sacrificed himself for Mary Margaret back when she was a complete stranger to him, back in that world. It’s a flimsy excuse and you know it.”

                He looks away. She still can’t seem to grasp that Graham’s willingness to trade his life for a stranger had seized David’s heart with the understanding of what he would do for _family_. Maybe Graham would have done the same, without knowing about Brianna. But David didn’t want to throw more fuel on the man’s already righteous nature by letting him know about the man’s then-unborn daughter. “The thing is, you are my daughter and I know what he means to you. I wanted to do everything I could to make sure he thought before doing it again.”

                “You arrogant … you know what?” she says, her hands coming to her temples in frustration. “I don’t want to have this conversation anymore. You were wrong and now we all have to deal with that. Excuse me, I need to get my daughter,” she says in a huff, beginning to rush away.

                He runs his hands through his hair, slumping against the wall. He knew there would be fallout; he had been warned, he had even assumed. But he had half-hoped that Graham and Emma’s excitement in seeing each other again would negate some of the anger. And while they seem to be exceptionally happy with one another, Emma is still holding fast to her anger.

                “Emma, wait,” he calls. She stops, her brow furrowed and he realizes that she is only so angry because it covers the hurt. His heart twists, hating that he is the reason for it. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I see that it wasn’t the right thing for _you_. I should have never gotten Henry involved, that wasn’t my place. But it was only because I wanted you to get your happy ending; I wanted you to have your true love. I didn’t want you to be separated, like your mother and I were.”

                She looks away sharply, chewing on her lip. She is silent a long moment, her fists curling and uncurling at her sides. “Fine,” she says slowly. “But you need to tell Graham that, too. And you need to explain to Henry that you were wrong.” She nods once, firmly, and heads down the stairs.

                David is just beginning to follow her downstairs to corner Graham next, when the doorbell rings. He sighs as he glances to Snow. “I’ll get it.”

                He knows to be cautious, especially now, so he approaches the door with a fair amount of apprehension before remembering that Cora wouldn’t be ringing the bell. Still, he steels himself, opening his stance before leaning toward the peephole.

END PART I

TBC

 

 


	32. David Part 2 (6)

                David paused, taking a breath. He looks out the peephole, half-expecting Ruby or Neal, but preparing for something more sinister.

                Instead, he frowns when there is just the timid-looking librarian. Rumplestiltskin’s girlfriend.

                The young woman was helping the second division in their look-out for Regina and Cora. He cautiously opens the door, worried at her presence. “Is all clear?” he asks without pretense.

                It’s Graham who gives a slight smile to the girl as he dries his hands. “Belle. What are you doing here?” he asks.

                “Belle!” Henry cries, running forward before skidding to a stop in front of her with a wide grin. “It’s so cool to see you!”

                The brunette smiles. “You, too, Henry,” she says. Then, she nods to Emma. “Rumple told me of your new addition. Congratulations,” she says brightly, a package in her outstretched hands.

                “Belle?” Emma asks, an eyebrow quirking. “As in _Beauty and the Beast_ Belle?”

                Graham chuckles and he grabs her hand. “Yeah. I guess we’ll have to talk about some of these stories, huh?”

                Emma snorts and shakes her head. She takes the package, smiling in more of a grimace. “Thanks,” she says, still looking bewildered.

                Graham gestures toward the bassinet. “She’s sleeping, but I’ll gladly introduce you later,” he says. “Brianna,” he breathes, eyes softening. David can see the pride billowing up in the man, the fondness as he looks at his daughter. His own heart swells with how loved his granddaughter is. Then Graham offers a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

                Belle grins. “I am so happy for you. A happy ending at last, Huntsman,” she beams.

                Graham looks away shyly, but his fingers entwine Emma’s more fully as he reddens. “And for you, Belle.”

                She grimaces. “I apologize for him, again, by the way.” She turns to David next and her eyes are softly apologetic. “He told me the tea would help protect you. I didn’t know he meant that it would protect you from him finding an alternative to getting Emma out of town.”

                David scowls. He hadn’t realized it was the tea that stole his memories. “I don’t blame you,” he says with a shrug.

                She sighs. “I know there’s good in him … I just need to step away from it for a while.” Then she frowns. “That’s the other reason I came this morning.”

                David steps forward. “Something at the library?” he asks. The second-division consisted of many people at the central part of town. He hadn’t expected much activity at the library, of all places, but he is suddenly thankful he had the forethought not to negate it completely.

                She nods and holds up a silver pendant. Henry gasps and grins. “The locket I gave you!”

                She smiles at him. “I told you that it’s basically an alarm. I didn’t notice until this morning, but it was set off last evening in the library. I was having dinner with Ruby and Ashley; no one should have been there.”

                “That would’ve been me,” a disembodied voice sounds. Then the air them shimmers, and a dark-haired man is standing in the front room.

                David jumps back, reaching for a sword that is not at his side as the others rise to their feet.

                “Killian,” Emma bites out, pulling Henry back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

                He gives her a once over but his eyes are focused more on Graham. “Sorry for the entrance. Couldn’t have Cora know where I am. When the girl came, I saw my way in,” he says, tossing a ring onto the table. “Figured you all would have some use for it. Invisibility.”

                David looks at the ring and then turns back to the pirate. He immediately thinks back to his conversation with his wife, about what this man has done. “ _You_. You’ve done enough around here,” he grinds out. “You tried to harm my family.”

                From the stairs, he hears the wolf creep down. The pirate stiffens but otherwise shows no regard to the creature. Its gaze is inventorying. David catches its hard bi-colored stare for only a moment. Its tail flicks as it watches the pirate, but it doesn’t move to attack.

                Hook actually looks apologetic at the accusation, his eyes turning to the ground. He glances back to Emma. “My apologies, princess. I didn’t mean for you or the child to be harmed.”

                Emma’s posture improves. She moves closer to the breakfast bar, her hand falling to land on Brianna’s bassinet. Graham mirrors her actions in unison, pushing Henry behind the block of their bodies. “You lucked out this time. We’re fine,” Emma asserts.

                Hook nods, swallowing hard. “I hope you accept my sincerest apologies. Had I known sooner, I wouldn’t have gotten near you with any plan except to provide for your safety.”

                She stiffens. “You don’t get to pretend that you have some claim staked here, Killian.”

                David looks between his daughter and the pirate. “What are you getting at?” he growls at Hook.

                Snow jerks her chin forward. “He likes to play games, David. Don’t listen to anything he says. He will try to strip you down to your greatest insecurities; don’t let him.”

                He feels his heart twist, remembering her stories of how he did just that to her on the beanstalk.

                “Quite the hypocrite, aren’t we, my Queen? But enough of that. My business here isn’t with you or your dear husband. My business is with the others.”

                Graham’s body is tense, standing beside, but not in front of, Emma. Their bodies block Brianna and Henry in a wholly instinctive way. “Whatever business you have, we don’t care to hear it,” he rumbles, his eyes hard.

                David doesn’t think he’s ever seen Graham so angry. During their time together, Graham has always been the collected one, the one to quietly protect and calmly explain. This vehemence is unusual in the man; perhaps having his family to protect _does_ bring out another side of him.

                The pirate’s eyes are sad. “You don’t believe yet. I understand. But you can’t deny why you remember her. Eventually, you’ll see that there is only one explanation for your existence. There is only one way it’s possible.”

                “He believes. He just doesn’t care,” Emma retorts angrily.

                Hook’s eye twitches and he looks wounded, much to David’s confusion. “You forget that you owe me, Swan. You owe me for protecting you and the child while back in the old world.”

                “My daughter doesn’t owe you anything, pirate,” David booms, anger itching through him.

                “He’s right. You sent me into an early labor and then ran away. Then what you did to Graham … I can’t forgive that,” she says, her eyes bright with anger.

                Graham takes her hand again in a show of support. “You’re not welcome here,” he says.

                Hook shakes his head. “The children, both with Milah’s blood in their veins. You have no idea how highly I regard them both.” He hesitates, looking at Graham. “And you.”

                “Milah,” Belle breathes from her forgotten corner, her eyes rounding in some sort of realization lost to David.

                Emma snarls, darting forward, but Graham stops her with a gentle grip. Graham’s eyes are still dark with anger as they train on the pirate. “You should leave,” he says, his voice hard but steady.

                Hook twitches, looking away. “No. I need to talk to you.”

                Graham huffs a short breath. “I don’t need anything from you.” Emma flanks him, curling her hand into his supportively.

                The pirate shakes his head. “This, you’ll need to hear. It involves the witches.”

                Graham closes his eyes. “Fine,” he says, stepping forward and grabbing his arm, pulling him into the next room for its semi-privacy.

                Emma looks after him worriedly before sighing and turning back to her kids. She pushes a hand through her curls, the tiredness seeping through her features again.

                David looks to Snow. Her brow is wrinkled, and she shrugs in response to his unspoken question. He turns back to Emma, the confusion lying heavy in him. “Emma, what’s this about?”

                She winces, eyes fluttering shut and he can see her trying to compose herself.

                “Milah was Rumple’s ex-wife,” Belle offers, folding her arms around herself protectively. “Bae’s mother. So, Bae’s son would have Milah’s blood, but … how could _both_ …?”

                David goes back to Emma, who is leaning protectively over the bassinet, eyes shut tightly.

                Snow cries out in sharp realization from beside him. “No. It’s impossible,” she gasps. “Oh, Emma!”

                Henry leans forward, grabbing his mother’s hand. Emma presses her lips together, before opening her eyes to look at her son. “I know this is getting confusing for you, kid,” she says apologetically.

                David pales as it comes together. “But … Bae, that’s Neal,” he stutters. He lets that fall into place. He can’t do it, can’t let it fix in his mind in a logical sense; it feels too much like a puzzle piece that fits but only after denting the board. The pirate … and _Graham_? It’s too different, too impossible. Manipulative verses honorable. Self-seeking versus selfless. And that would make Neal and Graham half-brothers, another part that is just inconceivable. They couldn’t be more different, all three.

                But he remembers when Graham first came back, and how he thought he and Henry looked related.

                He pulls Snow close, trying to get a handle on himself and knowing he can do it better in her arms. She is breathing lowly, her hand resting around his waist loosely.

                His head is spinning.

                _James_ , he recalls. James had been his opposite in nearly every way, from what he can discern having never met him. He had been cold, cruel, and calculating. But they were twins, shared a womb, and were close enough in looks to pass for one another to a whole kingdom. It had been their upbringing, their decisions, and their environments that had shaped them, not their genetics.

                Desperately, he searches out Graham, hoping that just seeing him can clear the confusion. The other man’s mouth is set in a hard line, gesturing angrily as he speaks in hushed tones. But as David watches, Graham’s face drains of color.

                Before David can stop himself, he pulls away from his family, going to help his future son-in-law. He squeezes Snow’s hand, and she presses back in return, releasing it with a look of approval as she steps toward Emma and Henry.

                “What’s going on?” he says under his breath once he reaches them.

                Hook looks at him in disinterest. “The poison I had been keeping for the Crocodile. It is put to better use now. I was explaining that I have decided that seeking revenge against Milah’s killer is rather useless. This way, something can come of it.”

                David’s brow furrows, noting how Graham is tensing further, just barely keeping composed. “What way is that?” David asks.

                Hook ignores him, looking at Graham again in melancholy. “Had I known, none of it would have happened to you. You would never have suffered at her hand.”

                Graham’s eyes widen. David freezes, watching the pirate that may have fathered the man opposite him. Despite his distaste for the pirate, he feels the ache in the man’s words, and can only imagine how he would feel if he knew that Emma had suffered torture at the hands of a madwoman for decades. Sympathy rises in his chest, tempered by the memory of what the man did to his wife and daughter.

                Hook’s gaze darkens slightly. “She should not have the opportunity to live, not after what she did to you.”

                “He’s poisoned her,” Graham supplies numbly. “He poisoned Regina.”

                Hook shrugs indelicately. “Her death will come in the next few days. The poison will have her suffer.”

                “I – … Regina’s dying?” David asks. It doesn’t click in his mind, the thought not cementing. Regina, after all the years of fighting or escaping or allowing freedom and second chances … now, suddenly, she’s _dying_?

                Graham pulls his hands through his hair roughly, and David can practically see the frustration scratching through his veins. “Oh, God, Henry,” he grinds out.

                David lets out a breath in a low hiss. _Henry_. Henry will be _devastated_. For all the wrongs she’s done, she raised Henry, and the boy still loves her. He leans against the doorway, feeling the wind knocked out of him. Even Snow, who still tries desperately to find the good in Regina, who still sees the stepmother she looked up to ….

                “I disagree with your methods, mate. She doesn’t deserve the mercy,” the pirate reiterates, flicking the hook on his hand almost idly.

                Graham’s jaw is set. “And you don’t believe that will make us a bigger target in Cora’s eyes?” he asks.

                David’s eyes close. He knows Graham is absolutely right. If Regina dies … Cora’s rampage will be blood-soaked, lining the streets in bodies to avenge her daughter’s death.

                “I alone will take the fall for it,” the pirate murmurs.

                “You _wouldn’t_ be the only one,” David counters.

                “Cora won’t end with you. She’ll be furious, and won’t stop at just one person to avenge her favorite pawn’s death! I can’t believe you wouldn’t consider that! She could go after the kids!” Graham shouts, his face coloring in anger.

                David is quick to agree, stepping forward and grabbing the pirate by the collar. “You need to fix this now, before it gets out of hand,” he growls, his eyes narrowed on the man.

                He shakes his head, his gaze resolute. “There’s nothing I can do. There is no cure. She will die by the end of the week and you won’t have to deal with her ever again. I am sure we can find a way to counter Cora in that time.” He looks toward Graham again. “I couldn’t let her go unpunished. She’s been walking around without consequence for too long.”

                David looks away slightly, letting his grip loosen. He knows this is partially his fault. He can recall multiple instances when he could have _demanded_ Regina’s execution, let the arrow or the bullet fly. He should have gone against Snow’s kind-hearted wishes the one time he _had_ ordered her execution, he knows that. He has shown too much mercy, and Graham is living proof of the ones that suffered for such weakness. And Graham is only _just_ living proof, having been plucked from death’s icy grip by his daughter’s love.

                On one hand, he is almost thankful for Hook’s actions, for taking it out of the hands of his family, and doing what they could not.

                On the other hand …. “This is too dangerous. We need to prepare for the fact that we are not equipped to fight Cora, especially a Cora that has lost her daughter.”

                “You all may not be, but I believe your daughter has a little more magic than you, mate,” Hook grumbles angrily.

                “Emma doesn’t know how to use it. And we have to use all our energy on protecting Henry and Brianna, now that you’ve set her loose on us,” Graham grinds out in response.

                “I brought you from two evils down to one. You could at least be appreciative of that,” Hook counters, eyes flashing.

                Graham flinches but shakes his head. “No, what you did is bring the focus directly on top of us, instead of their focus being split between us and Rumplestiltskin.”

                “’Stiltskin. He’d know what to do,” David speaks up. Rumplestiltskin had always been there, in the background, steering their lives. He has lived many years, knows exactly what makes both women tick. He’d certainly know what to do.

                Graham looks over to his family, wetting his dry lips and swallowing hard. “I need to stay, I can’t … I don’t want to leave them right now,” he admits. He turns his gaze to lock on David’s. “Would you mind …?”

                “Of course,” David says. He feels honored that Graham trusts him with this, and the guilt again begins to eat at him. Graham is so willing to put his trust in him, even after what he did. “I will keep you informed on everything. _Everything_ , Graham. I won’t keep anything from you again.”

                Graham gives a small smile and a stiff nod. “Thank you, David, but I understand.”

                David lets the words wash over him, and he claps his hand down on his shoulder. He nods, hoping to convey how much it means to him. Then he pivots, turning back to the pirate. “We need to go to Gold’s. And you,” David says, tugging Hook forward. “You started this. That’s why you’re coming with me and you’re going to work with Gold to get my family safe,” he commands.

                Hook juts his chin to the ring on the table and then saunters forward to grab it. “I will do whatever my family needs,” he says grudgingly, rolling it between his hands.

                Graham looks up sharply but says nothing to the statement. He finally nods. “Thank you,” he says simply.

                David wonders exactly who he’s speaking to, since he doesn’t look at anyone. He finds, after a moment, that it must be for both of them. They are both helping his family.

                He turns back to the man, whose title of Brianna’s grandfather he technically shares, and nods. “We will keep them safe,” he says, letting understanding pass between them.

                Hook nods. “I have no intentions to the contrary.”

                David returns to Snow, who is brushing back Henry’s hair with a gentle hand, tears swimming in her eyes leftover from whatever conversation she and the boy were having. “Snow? Can I speak with you for a minute?”

                She looks up, sniffing. She nods, patting Henry’s hand before walking over to him. David pulls them out of Henry’s earshot carefully. “What is it?” she asks, and he can hear the twinge of dread in her voice.

                “I’m going to Gold’s. The kids need to be protected, so Graham’s staying here.”

                She studies him carefully before looking toward where Graham has pulled Emma to the side. “What’s going on, David?”

                David sighs, rubbing the back of his neck from the sudden tension. “Hook screwed up. Cora will be on the rampage,” he replies.

                Her brow furrows, her expression blooming with worry. “What do you mean?”

                He takes her hand between his palms. “Regina … he poisoned her.”

                Snow sucks in a breath. “We have to save her!” she says immediately. “We need a plan, we have to make sure she’ll be okay.”

                His lips turn up in a slight smile. She is focused, determined. He feels a sharp pang at how protective she is of this woman, her mortal enemy. The woman that’s tried to kill her so many times, that’s stolen her happiness, or at least tried to … and still, Snow cares. He knows Regina would never do the same for his wife. He brushes a hand through her hair lovingly. “That’s why I’m going to Gold,” he explains.

                Snow’s face hardens and she nods. “Good. Emma and Graham should stay here, with the kids. You go get a cure and whatever else you can get from Gold. And I’ll go to the meeting, rally everyone together and prepare,” she lists. Behind the determination and quick burst of leadership, he can see the worry, the fear, the pain.

                He quickly grabs her in an embrace, pulling her hard against his chest. “I love you,” he murmurs into her hair.

                “I love you, too,” she whispers back, shaky only a second before pulling back with a smile. “We can fix this.”

                He nods, though he is less sure. “Of course we can.” He at least believes in _her_.


	33. Henry (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry this is late, but it’s been a bit of a wrangle to get my muse in shape. Next chapter will also likely be late, but that’s mostly because it’s Neal’s POV and I’ll be working to show some more respect. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support. I love my stalkers as well!

 

                Henry’s not stupid.

                He knows there’s something going on that they’re not telling him.

                The pirate’s entrance had been paralyzing, coiling him with a fear that hadn’t struck him in a long time. Memories of _sorry, love_ and a puff of magic that made his mom fold in half in agony flashed over him. His mind felt crippled, waiting for another axe to drop, just like it did last time. Everyone had been on guard, waiting for the pounce, and his mind was clanging with a shrill sound that tuned everything out in anticipation.

                Everything remained tense, but slowly Henry realized that his initial fear was moot. Instead, the pirate only seemed insistent on talking. But what he was saying … it had flown past his head.

                His mom tried explaining after. He’s not sure that it has latched on quite yet. His mind is still full, and exceptionally so, and anything new seems to only reverberate around his head.

                Everything moves in a flurry after that: his grandparents are speaking in hushed tones in the corner. Graham took Emma to the side as well, and Henry clutched Belle’s arm as he tried to read the emotions pouring off of his mom.

                Henry swallows, wanting to know what they’re saying, why he’s being left out. Belle is at least just as ignorant of the goings-on. She keeps a gentle grip on him as the others talk, coaxing him into introducing her to Brianna. He takes the time, but feels distracted as he tries to do so. It’s all too strange.

                Finally, his grandpa comes forward, giving a cautious smile to him that seems faked for his benefit. It makes him even more suspicious. “Henry. Me and your grandma … we’re going to be off for a bit. Your mom and Graham will be here to protect you.”

                “Where are you going?” Henry asks, his eyes flashing from pale face to pale face.

                “Snow’s going to the meeting, the one we talked about? I’m … we need something from Mr. Gold, so I’m going to see him with Captain Hook.”

                Henry let that sink in a moment. Boy, did that sound strange, Prince Charming and Captain Hook traveling together.

                “I’ll go with you. I’ll make sure he helps with whatever you need,” Belle offers determinedly.

                David gives a small, relieved smile. “That would really be helpful.”

                “Anytime, Your Majesty,” Belle replies.

                David grimaces at the title, but doesn’t correct her. Henry barely forces down an amused grin. There is something funny about being royalty, kings and queens and princes and princesses, but living in this tiny loft.

                Henry’s head feels full once more as soon as his grandparents, Captain Hook, and Belle leave. Finally, he breathes a shaky sigh of worry at the too-tense room. He wants answers for the things he knows he has been cut off from. But now he is looking at Graham with a little more knowledge, a little more understanding.

                His mom’s explanation still hangs in his mind. It still feels strange, hazy. Captain Hook is Graham’s _dad_?

                His mom and Graham are talking quietly, pulling each other close as they speak.

                “We need to protect our family, Emma,” he hears Graham mutter into Emma’s hair, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

                _Our family_ , his mind repeats, letting this wander to the new revelation.

                “You and my dad are brothers?” he asks before he can think. He winces internally. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, especially not since the last time they had spoken alone, when he had basically asked Graham to be his dad.

                A flash of hurt disappears almost instantly on Graham’s face, almost before he can name it. “Yeah, I suppose so,” he says somberly.

                Henry plays with a string on his sleeve, winding it around his finger again and again. He didn’t mean in that way, it’s just …. “So, we’re really related?”

                Graham’s face softens and he nods. “It looks like it, Henry.”

                Henry sighs and walks over to hug him around the waist. This is one revelation he _can_ deal with. Graham’s hand sits on top of his head. It feels like it always has: warm and real and loving. Graham and him haven’t changed, not really. Graham’s still there, still protective and attentive. Still gives him the truth, still talks to him like an equal. It’s just that now he’s not _just_ Brianna’s dad or his mom’s true love. Henry can now say that he and Graham are from the same family. He can be just like Graham, because they are _related,_ they share the same _blood_.

                Henry can scarcely remember when he was isolated from everyone, when he only had Regina. When he felt so alone that he felt _empty_ , watching everyone else stay stagnant as he grew. Now he has his mom, his sister, his father, his uncle, his grandparents … when did his life get so full?

                “Henry,” Emma says gently. He pulls back from Graham and looks at her with wet eyes. “You know you don’t have to be related for it to mean something.”

                “I know,” he says, his voice small.

                He always knew he had been adopted. Even when things started getting bad, when he started asking questions and was made to think he was crazy, there was always a part of him that loved his mom. Now, apparently she was the only one he _wasn’t_ related to by blood.

                Emma’s jaw sets. “It doesn’t have to change anything that you don’t want it to.”

                He cocks his head and looks up at Graham, meeting his dark blue eyes curiously. “Does this mean I have to call you Uncle Graham now?”

                He shakes his head, a thoughtful smile on his face as his eyes shade. “You can call me whatever you want, Henry.”

                Henry thinks about it. He doesn’t want Graham to be _just_ his uncle. Graham’s his sister’s dad, but he’s always been there for _him_. He feels a hitch in his breath, a feeling of worry but certainty that eats through his stomach and out through his mouth. His voice gets smaller as he looks over at Brianna, to avoid looking at either adult. “If I have two moms, I can have two dads, right?”

                A hand gently turns his face to meet Graham’s face. Graham’s eyes are wide, murky, and he presses his lips together and then tilts his chin. “If that’s what you want, I’d like nothing better.”

                A whoosh of relief passes through him, a lightness that releases every part of the knots that had formed from the day. He has a dad. But he’s _always_ had him, even when he couldn’t call him that.

                “Henry,” Emma says, and he twists to her. She is teary, eyes red as she struggles to move past the moment and onto something different. She blows out a breath, spine straightening. “There’s something else we have to tell you. Something Hook did.”

                Henry’s brow furrows but he nods, turning to face her fully.

                Graham shifts around so that he is next to Emma, kneeling in front of him. “Henry, Hook, he … he wanted to do something for us when he learned who I was. He made a big mistake.”

                “A mistake?” Henry bleats, trying to figure out what could have happened, why the air feels so heavy with suspense.

                “Killian knew what Regina did to Graham,” Emma says, taking a deep breath with shut eyes. She can see the shiver of pain go through her, and the hand that Graham doesn’t have on him reaches to slide against her side.

                Henry pales. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about what happened to Graham, how he was gone for so long because his mom killed him. Doesn’t want to remember how sad Emma was, how unapologetic Regina had been. He would rather forget it all.

                “Hook wanted revenge. He had a poison, meant for Rumplestiltskin. He attacked Regina instead,” Graham finishes softly.

                Henry freezes, looking between the adults rapidly. “Wha—What?” he says, feeling his mouth turn dry, swaying at the news. His mom? His _mom_?

                “Henry,” Emma tries gently.

                Numbness fills him slowly as this seeps in, a chill that starts at his very core. “My mom … he’s killing her?” he asks, his voice almost unnaturally small.

                Graham’s eyes shut and when they open, they are serious. “She’s been infected, Henry, but there will be a way out of this. We will find a way. That’s what we do, right?”

                Henry hesitates. He’s always believed in their family; he always believed things would turn out right. He still does. Nothing can shake his faith, not after all they’ve gone through. But he has this faith because they are the _heroes_ of the story. They are meant to have a happy ending. His other mom is not a hero; she killed Graham before, and lots of other people, and cast the curse. It’s the reason why Captain Hook went after her. She’s the villain of the story and she’s meant to be defeated.

                Emma sees his hesitation and kneels before him. Her smile is sympathetic and she pulls a hand through his hair. His eyes slip shut, allowing the comfort the action brings, and dimly he wonders how it would have been if they had always been together. “They’re going to find a way for her to be okay, Henry. You know Gold. He has a solution for everything.”

                Henry bites his lip, unsure. There are too many thoughts in his head, too much information. His mind is swirling with dark thoughts and his stomach is churning with nausea. “What if they don’t?”

                She shakes her head. “That’s not the type of thing we’re used to, Henry. We don’t give up, not in this family.”

                He tries to nod, feeling an overwhelmed torrent of tears behind his eyes. Emma pulls him in a hard embrace and he falls into her easily, sobbing into her shoulder. He can feel Graham’s hand on his back, making soothing circles, and as glad as he is to have their support, he can’t stop how broken he feels. This isn’t the happy ending. It _can’t_ be.

                “I’m sorry, Henry,” Emma says into his hair, the words slipping out again and again. He can feel the force behind the words; even if she doesn’t like Regina, she _is_ sorry. Emma doesn’t want him to hurt, he can feel it in the way she crushes him to her.

                Graham is just as comforting, even if he is more timid in his actions. Henry tips his head up to look at him. The man is concerned, pained, his brow furrowed as he looks on Henry in sympathy. Henry pulls out of Emma’s embrace just a touch to pull the older man close as well, so they are a tangle of limbs. He needs them both, right now. It doesn’t make up for the emotion twisting through his body, the fear and the agony and the anger and the loss … but it’s something. It’s something _right_.

                A heavy knock sounds on the door. “Now, what?” Emma says grumpily, wiping tears from her eyes hastily as she heads for the entrance.

                Emma gasps as she checks the peephole. She steels herself and pulls one hand back. It glows in a white-gold light, preparing with her magic as the other hand twists the knob. The wolf perks up from his spot on the stairs and his jowls peel back as he growls angrily towards the entrance. Emma’s eyes narrow as she opens the door. “You.”

                His other mom stumbles in, pushing past Emma. She hurls herself into the loft. “Henry,” she calls, her voice thick and cloying. “I need my son.”

                Henry’s mouth drops open. Her eyes are wide, glassy and unfocused but with a wild energy. Beads of dark crimson drip noisily onto the floor, and her hand covering her side is smeared with old and new blood. She is shaking violently, but there is still an air of danger around her.

                He’s never seen his mom look so vulnerable.

                It’s scary just in itself.

                He only has a second to process it, and then Emma’s magic twists into a barrier. The light pulsates with intent.

                “Regina,” Emma all but growls. The wolf darts forward, but a quick hand to its head from Graham makes him heel.

                His other mom’s eyes flash and connect with Emma’s through the haze. “You. You won’t prevent me from seeing him. You got your wish, you’ll be rid of me. But I will see him before I go.” She stumbles, coughing and gasping back air; it sounds rough and tearing, like fabric ripping.

                Emma’s jaw clenches. “Who said I wished you dead? Henry would never want that. And that’s the difference between us.” Emma sighs, her eyes rolling up as she steadies herself. She finally pulls the power back into her, seeing that there is no need for it with Regina so weak. “They’re looking for the cure.”

                “Well, they won’t find one,” Regina counters haughtily. She is swaying as she holds her side, her face turned downward. “Cora made this one specifically.”

                Henry is frightened by the certainty, by the bitterness in his mom’s voice. He doesn’t have time to process what Emma said, that she wouldn’t want her dead, because all he can see is the feebleness in his ever-resilient mother.

                “Yeah, well, they’ll find something with Rumplestiltskin helping them,” Emma mutters moodily. “As long as you don’t bleed out on my floor in the meantime.”

                “I’ll get some med supplies,” Graham says, barely touching Emma’s hand as he passes.

                Emma huffs and heads after him after a split second. “Wait, we just moved the box.”

                Henry turns back to Regina. “Mom?” he asks, feeling his eyes prick with tears again.

                Her eyes focus on him and she smiles. “Oh, my son. My little prince. I knew I would see you one last time.”

                His eyes bounce from her face to her wound. “Mom … he … he really did it, didn’t he?”

                She blinks slowly. “It’s not that bad, Henry. You heard Emma. They’ll find a cure.”

                He feels anger creep into him and his hands ball into fists. “Stop lying to me! If you’re dying, say you’re dying! I can’t take you lying to me; it’s not going to protect me!”

                She looks away, shifting to sit in an open chair. She looks over the room, to the bassinet, where Brianna is strangely quiet. The wolf is beside it, tense with its fur on end as it growls in open threat. “You have a sister, now, Henry. A different family. You don’t need me.”

                He shakes his head, a sob escaping. “You don’t get it! I love my sister, I love my mom, I love Graham and Neal and Grandpa and Grandma and even you! I love everyone, and I’m _allowed_ to love everyone. I need you _all_!”

                Regina swallows thickly. “I don’t want to argue, Henry. Yes, I’m probably going to die.”

                Henry backs up, looking down at the smears of blood he unknowingly walked through. His stomach flips and he swallows back bile as he stumbles all the way back to his sister. He looks down at her as she sleeps, her chest rising and sinking in a rhythmic pattern. He grabs her little hand and her fingers clamp down in reflex; he is shaking as he tries to process what his mom admitted.

                Graham returns, Emma on his heels, with their arms full of supplies. Graham barely looks up as he pulls a bandage from the mass and stretches it out. “We have to stop the bleeding first,” he says.

                Regina nods, and brings a hand out to grab Graham’s arm to steady herself. She is pushed back abruptly by the white-gold light. “No,” Emma says, her eyes flaming behind her raised hand. “ _You don’t touch him_. You’re not to touch him _ever_ _again_ ,” she spits out.

                Regina’s eyes flicker and then narrow. “So, I guess you’ve heard. What’s this, then? Jealousy?”

                Emma growls angrily and leaps forward, but Graham pulls her back steadily. He presses his lips to his mom’s ear, whispering something. Emma’s eyes don’t lose their heat, but she relaxes in his arms. “I’ll do it,” she grunts, stepping forward deliberately.

                Graham walks over and drops a hand on his head. Henry looks up at him. “Henry, maybe you should go upstairs,” he offers.

                He shakes his head, feeling unusually cold. “No. I need to stay here,” he says in a timid voice.

                Graham’s face is grim, but he turns him so they are facing Brianna with their back to Regina and Emma. “Don’t look at this part, Henry.”

                He tries hard to focus on his sister, to keep his eyes on only her. He can hear Regina’s hard breaths, gritting her teeth against the pain. “Idiot pirate doesn’t even know what he’s done,” she hisses. “Cora won’t stand for this.”

                Henry looks up at Graham, and the man squeezes his hand. “He didn’t think things through,” Graham agrees.

                Henry’s eyes dart away. Was this how it would end? His mom would die for all her crimes and a bigger evil would ruin their lives? “Do you really think she would hurt us?” he asks.

                The question is directed to Graham, but it is his mom that answers. “Cora wouldn’t have any problem with it, as much as she tries to pretend my happiness is important to her. And you are my happiness, Henry.”

                “She isn’t coming anywhere near him,” Emma grinds out, the sharp sound of the bandage being pulled tight ringing through the air. “I may not have all the power I had last time I faced her, but I have enough. She won’t get to him or anyone else in this family.”

                Emma comes into his line of sight, heading for the sink in the kitchen. Henry’s stomach rolls again as he sees the dark blood on his mom’s hands. “Is it done?” he asks softly.

                “I may have to change the bandages in a bit, but yeah,” Emma replies as she washes her hands. Emma is tense, her eyes red as Graham comes to her to rub her shoulders comfortingly. Henry forgets sometimes about how much Regina hurt the other members of his family, how it affects them still. Henry was furious with Regina when he realized she killed Graham, but Emma only now knows for real that it happened. And yet, she still works to make sure Regina won’t die. For him.

                He looks back at Regina. Her dark eyes are hollow as she watches Emma and Graham. There’s something in her gaze, something he doesn’t want to think about. She seems to feel his eyes on her, and she turns to face him. Her black shirt is torn, revealing the stark white of the bandage beneath. “Don’t worry, Henry. I will spend my last breath making sure you are safe,” she says softly.

                He swallows hard. “And my sister?”

                She looks at the bassinet and her eyes close. “Yes, your sister, too. I did promise you that.”

                Henry edges forward. “Mom … you won’t do anything to hurt anyone, right? You won’t come after Grandma anymore, or Emma, or Graham? You’ll leave them alone?”

                Her lips purse in distaste, even with the pain he knows she must be feeling. “I won’t be around much longer. I’d rather spend my time with you than getting revenge.”

                Something almost dislodges within him. Henry looks around, letting the implication wash over him. His mom is putting love before revenge. It’s only words right now, but … but maybe that’s a step forward. “You have to promise me, Mom. You have to promise that you won’t hurt anyone else.”

                She nods, her tired eyes falling shut. “I promise you, Henry. I will keep you safe from my mother and I won’t go after the ones you love.”

                Henry runs at her, hugging her tight. She lets out a huff of discomfort, but he can’t back away because she’s holding him just as tight. Tears are rushing down his face and he struggles to slow them down. “Thank you, Mom. Please, you have to live.”

                Her eyes are tight, not bothering to open. “I need to sleep, Henry,” she says, and the words are heavy, slurred in tiredness.

                “Probably not the best idea,” Emma murmurs from the counter. Henry looks up to see his other parents watching them carefully. Emma rises and grabs a dish towel, soaking it in cool water and filling it with some ice cubes. “Here, put this on your head. Maybe it’ll keep you awake,” Emma offers.

                Regina sighs and holds it against her head with a wince. “So, we’re neutral for now?” she asks, the words losing their bite with the fatigue.

                Emma shakes her head. “No. Not neutral. But we have our common enemy. That’ll have to do.”

                Regina opens one eye. “Well, at least you’re honest about it,” she mutters.

                Graham takes Henry’s hand and guides him gently closer to the wolf. Henry’s lips quirk up, recognizing that his dad is trying to keep him safe again. Henry doesn’t need to be protected around Regina, but he also understands that Graham doesn’t fully trust her yet.

                “When do you think Cora’s going to find out that you’re injured?” Graham asks.

                She purses her lips. “We were supposed to meet at the library at noon. Either she’ll have found the dagger by then, or she’ll want to ‘question’ Miss French. Yesterday was about planning, today was supposed to be action,” she advises.

                “’Stiltskin won’t stand by Belle being ‘questioned,’ that’s for sure,” Graham replies. His jaw has tightened at the threat on the girl. Henry knows Graham considers her a friend. Henry likes Belle, too, and doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to _anyone_ , ever again.

                “We aren’t going to be safe here, but I can’t think of anywhere else that would be better,” Emma says in frustration.

                “Well, I found you easy enough. That silly little barrier spell you put up will be no match for anything Cora has. And my mother knows where you live,” Regina notes.

                Graham’s eyes flash. “A protection spell. You knew enough of those back in the other world. Surely you have one available.”

                Regina laughs in a sort of exhausted huff. “I can’t use magic. This stupid poison is blocking it all from me. Trust me, I would have done a lot more if I had the power.”

                Emma’s eyes close and Henry can see the flash of anger pass her features once more. “And that’s one of the many reasons why, once this is resolved, you’re going on trial. I don’t care how the justice system works in this town. Consider yourself served.”

                “I _said_ I would _help_ ,” Regina answers in clipped, even tones.

                “And if you help us? Will that make everything you’ve ever done okay? Say we can forgive you someday. But what about the entire population of another land, whose lives you ripped away? People you’ve killed that can’t come back? It’s not just this family’s call,” Emma reasons, her shoulders squaring.

                Henry’s gaze falls again. Emma’s right. It’s not just the things she did to their family that’s the problem. It bothers him somewhat, that his mom won’t have some redemption that will make everything right. Even after reading everything, there are some things he still can’t see him mom having done. But he knows it happened. He’s seen some of the scars.

                Regina is shaking her head, the ice pack against her forehead. A few cubes have begun to melt, making tracks in her makeup. She looks drained, dejected … defeated. She is nothing like the woman he was used to, the perfect veneer shattered completely in a way he’s never seen.

                He fears for her, but at the same time … he wonders if this will change her. If she knows she can’t wipe away everything with one act, maybe she’ll try to be better for good. Maybe she’ll even change people’s minds about her.

                “It’ll be okay, Mom,” he swears, peeking out from behind Graham. He takes the man’s hand, pushing against his side. Graham wraps an arm around him effortlessly, pulling him closer. Henry looks up at him, giving a small smile. His family is big, now. Strange. Mixed-up. But they’ll work together, and they will make this right.

                Because even the heroes don’t fail the villains. It’s only the villains that fail themselves.

 


End file.
